


Breathing Glass

by BlackMajjicDuchess



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Bloodlust, Bondage and Discipline, Choking, Cousin Incest, Dark, Developing Relationship, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear, Forbidden Love, Lemon, Love, Lust, M/M, Male Slash, Mischief, NSFW, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, One True Pairing, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Protectiveness, Sadism, Secret Relationship, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slash, Slow Build, Spies & Secret Agents, Submission, Training, True Love, Violence, thrill seeking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 53,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMajjicDuchess/pseuds/BlackMajjicDuchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To submit to another means to allow your mind to rest, to place your body in the path of consummate pleasure, and to give a gift that should be masterfully taken." --A. Rogers </p><p>It is the sweetest kind of struggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spy vs. Spy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoodlesOfTheMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodlesOfTheMind/gifts).



> Got ripped apart on Tumblr by a vicious troll while I was writing this and got cold feet. I wrote it in October and am only posting it now. 
> 
> I wrote a 5000 word disclaimer, then discarded it.
> 
> My final verdict on me writing this: there was a story in my heart that needed to be told. I told it. You don't have to read it, but I DID have to write it. 
> 
> Flames will be deleted and I won't respond to them. 
> 
> Any questions, feel free to ask them. 
> 
> That said: excessive trigger warnings... you've been warned.

* * *

  _“_ _I am here to seduce you into a love of life; to help you to become a little more poetic; to help you die to the mundane and to the ordinary so that the extraordinary explodes in your life.”_

* * *

 

Shisui knew the voice, even if he could not see the man who owned it. It was the deep and scratchy voice of Yashiro, one of the prominent officers of the Uchiha police force, and Shisui’s current superior officer. Usually, predictably, Fugaku would be the one doling out the orders. This was a special case, however. “Shisui,” the voice began. It was firm, authoritative.

Shisui, of course, already had an inkling of what this was about. He’d never been accused of being an idiot before. Well, not seriously, anyway. There was no one _alive_ \--key word--who dared. “Yes, captain,” he responded, squatting on the ground with his head bowed before the other man.

Yashiro remained hidden. This was a touchy subject, and one of great concern. There was a lot of convoluted treachery in the atmosphere. It was often difficult to keep straight whom was betraying whom, though a single answer could be given that would cover the entire situation in one fell swoop: Uchiha betraying Uchiha. The whole thing was just maddening. Secret clan meetings, secret factions within the clan, the chief of police under suspicion, and Fugaku’s dear son most of all.

Shisui thought about Itachi, his young cousin, a kid he’d literally been watching his entire life; or, at least, ever since the kid could walk. The boy cloaked himself in solitude and wore it like armor. Shisui’d made as much of an attempt as he dared over the years to pierce through that armor. No one should be alone… a member of the Uchiha least of all. And yet, in his solitude, Itachi had already become an extraordinarily talented ninja, though Shisui saw him for what he was: untamed, unrefined, and generally just wasted. Itachi’s skills were nearly unsurpassed, but they were still rough. He had no guide, no mentor, for he’d left them all behind long, long ago. Itachi was more alone than ever, and frighteningly strong besides.

Fools like Yashiro would never see the boy for what he was: true magnificence, but only if handled properly, by someone just like… himself.

“You know of Uchiha Itachi.” It wasn’t quite a question.

Of course he knew of Itachi. They were cousins, of a kind. His mother was Fugaku’s first cousin, anyway, so in a distant kind of way that Shisui didn’t care to understand, they were cousins. “Yes.” Either Yashiro had forgotten that—more fool, him—or he simply didn’t care. Either choice was a fatal mistake. Loyalty was as plentiful in his blood as iron, and there was nothing to be done to make Shisui betray Itachi over his clan, even if he did sometimes say otherwise. Shisui had never told anyone, never would, but above everyone else in the world, Shisui valued Itachi most of all. Itachi was gloriously special, unique and amazing for reasons that none but he himself could see. In time, he hoped to show Itachi that they were alike in more ways than might seem obvious, a truth he felt as keenly as his own heartbeat, undeniable and soul-deep, but that was a delicate revelation that would need to be handled masterfully. It was a dangerous, seductive, exquisite game, and at the end of it, Itachi would be the ultimate prize.

“We have reason to suspect that he might be leaking clan secrets. This is an endangerment to our livelihood and a grave infraction to us all. You are the best choice among us to keep a watchful eye on Itachi. Track his movements. Follow him when necessary. Report anything… suspicious, especially about clan politics or meetings with persons of interest.”

Translation: permission to be upon Itachi like white on rice. He had to suppress the stupid grin that threatened. This was going to be too perfect. “Yes, captain,” came the easy response. Spy on Itachi. He’d expected that.

“And Shisui, it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. Be careful. Itachi is under a lot of strain. He’s too powerful. Shinobi of his caliber have often been lost to their own psychology.”

Oh, didn’t he know it, and all too well. He’d been helpless to the breakdown of his own father, and had made it his own priority to protect himself from similar mental destruction. Maybe Yashiro didn’t know—hopefully no one did—but if there was something to be done about Itachi’s mental dysfunction, Shisui wasn’t going to let that happen to him. A lot of people would die first. _Everyone,_ if necessary. “Yes.”

“Let me know if you find out anything. Your dedication to the clan has not gone unnoticed. You credit the Uchiha name, Shisui.” There was a whoosh of air as Yashiro departed, freeing Shisui to smile as he had wished before.

 _For now_ , he added silently, inwardly laughing. _Hold that thought, Yash._

* * *

 

Itachi stopped walking abruptly, feeling a sudden and urgent need to compose himself. His head throbbed with the power of distant and terrible memories. His body ached from the exhaustion of weeks of missions without a break, nothing to eat but a few measly soldier pills. He was certain he was probably dehydrated, too, and made a mental note to remedy that as soon as he got home. He squeezed his eyes shut and did a quick self scan of exactly what was going on with his body, knowing what he would find. A mishmash of exhaustion, stress, and tension. Months upon months of spying on clan, spying on village, performing missions, and meeting the expectations of ANBU. He was well and truly tired.

A spark of stubbornness flickered to life in his heart, though. This was just one more challenge, one more obstacle to overcome. He would work through the exhaustion. If he rested now, lay his head down upon a pillow and shut his eyes, he’d be out for a week. How much could he accomplish in that week if he didn’t rest? How much destruction could be wrought if he was unavailable to stem the tide of the bloodletting?

Ah, that was the crux of the issue, wasn’t it? He was _needed_. Konoha _needed_ him. ANBU _needed_ him. The Uchiha _needed_ him. And, he thought with a tired smile, Sasuke needed him, too. And, he added with a deeper frown, his mother and father needed him, too. So much need. So much fatigue. So much running back and forth, impressing prominent figures throughout the village without batting an eyelash, effortless and instinctual.

It was only because his eyes were shut and his senses were heightened that he even felt the arrival of the other. He didn’t need to look to know who was there. It was his nuisance of an older cousin, Shisui. Though Itachi respected Shisui, there was something about the elder Shinobi that irked him. If he had to hazard a guess, it was because Shisui never seemed to take his duties seriously. No, that wasn’t quite right either, for his success rate was just as high as his own, it’s just that the facial expressions weren’t right. Yes, that was it. Shisui had never seemingly learned the Shinobi tenet that bade a ninja to detach himself from his emotions. Even now, the man was smirking at him. “Shisui,” he greeted.

And there it was again, that damnable smile. “Itachi,” he returned, the hint of laughter on his voice. What was so funny?

Itachi waited, frozen and emotionless, betraying nothing. None of the Uchiha were to be trusted, least of all this one. If there was anything he had learned about being an effective spy, it was that the most trustworthy objectives were often the most likely to be the spy. The trick to being invisible was to hover outside the realm of consciousness, both present and absent at the same time. A minor character in a crowd, though not too minor. Not worth a second glance, and barely worth the first.

“Returning from a mission?” Shisui asked pleasantly, making conversation. His cousin’s eyes appraised his look, though, taking in the dirt on his uniform and the tired sag of his eyes, most like, and Itachi was certain that there was still that smear of blood on his back from where he’d had to fall backward to avoid a hit and had rolled in a splash of blood.

What a sight he must make. A good, hot shower was first on his list when he got back home. “Yes.”

His eyelids fell to halfmast, the smile broadening only slightly. They analyzed each other in silence, digging out loyalties and friendships and family connections, judging the other based on what they knew and what they guessed about whom the other was serving, and all without saying a word. Shisui was _probably_ a problem. He’d _probably_ been sent to spy on him, in fact. That would make things difficult. Itachi was sure he could work around it somehow, but the added effort and strain would make for longer days and longer nights, and his already minimal sleep would suffer as a result. _One more challenge,_ he told himself. _If anyone can do it, it’s me._

“Want to hear something funny?” Shisui asked, the wicked gleam of mischief entering his eyes.

Itachi’s frown deepened. Yes, Shisui was far too attached to his emotions, he observed. Shisui’s talents were totally wasted, and Itachi couldn’t afford this inane distraction right now. “No,” he admitted. “I’ve only just gotten back, and—“

“I’ve been commanded to spy on you,” he broke in as if Itachi had not even spoken. Their eyes met, pools of obsidian colliding, crashing, jarring.

Itachi blinked once. Twice. He weighed his options, quickly sifting through the admission and the consequences, searching for comprehension. Spies weren’t supposed to admit their involvement. It was basically ANBU gospel, to remain steadfast under duress no matter the situation. Under no circumstances was one ever to reveal that he was a spy. It was simple anathema. Yet Shisui had done so. Why? Their fragile thread of blood relation could not be enough. Throughout their lifetimes, they had seldom had much contact with each other beyond mere acquaintance. Sometimes Shisui came by the house, but most times Itachi only saw him walking around or, more recently, in clan meetings. He didn’t dare ask the question, though. He’d need to act, and quickly. It was either kill the spy or continue on as normal. At least a revealed spy was easier to avoid. And, too, it would keep them from sending another one, maybe.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I told you?” The humor in his voice was then notably absent, and Itachi’s breathing stilled. The voice that came from the body was a completely different one. It was deeper, richer, more potent than before. The _real_ voice, all jokes aside, no bullshit. _Shinobi_. He felt his own training stir in response, man to man, equal to equal, met his black, piercing eyes and said nothing. “I asked you a question,” Shisui demanded softly, gaze intensifying. It was a voice that expected compliance, right now, no mincing, and it tore the word right out of Itachi’s lips.

“Why?” he blurted, the word pouring out of his mouth before he had time to consider why he had said it. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the difference in his demeanor, for the switchover had happened so suddenly that Itachi was still rather confused. All this time, and Shisui had been tempered steel shrouded in laughter. That was almost…interesting.

And just like that, the look evaporated. His eyes blinked, as if waking from a dream, back to their mischievous gleam. Senseless and guileless, as if Itachi had only imagined everything else before. “You know, if you think I’d sell you out to the likes of the police force, you’ve got another thing coming, kid.”

He’d gotten used to people calling him ‘kid,’ though more recently none had dared. Ever since ‘kid’ had become “captain,’ that nonsense had pretty much stopped. He’d been leading his own ANBU squads for a while now, and when ‘kid’ was immortalized on a report as ‘terrifying wraithlike demons [plural] with an impossible number of weapons’—because that had really happened—the teasing had mostly stopped. No one much dared anymore. Until now, apparently. He didn’t bother giving Shisui a response. He’d made a point of not engaging in petty arguments with his lessers. It would just be a waste of his energy and he really did have a lot to do tonight. True to his word to himself, he was going to practice, probably push his chakra to the edge, just to see how far he could go.

“How old are you now, anyway?” he pressed, apparently oblivious to Itachi’s fervent desire not to talk.

“Thirteen,” he answered, failing to think of a reason why he shouldn’t.

Shisui whistled and rattled on. “That must make you the youngest ANBU captain ever, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Cute.” The word was irritating, caused a sound in his throat he hadn’t intended. ‘Cute’ was never a word that a man wanted to be used to describe him, not ever. “And you awakened that Sharingan of yours at…?”

“Eight.”

Shisui laughed, further grating on Itachi’s senses. “Eight?! You’re kidding.”

“No,” he answered in a tone that distinctly said ‘I don’t ever make jokes.’

“You must be something really special,” he continued blithely.

Something wasn’t right here, Itachi realized. All of these things and more were fairly common knowledge among the Uchiha. Even an idiot like Shisui should have known. Besides, he didn’t much like talking about himself, and he didn’t have the energy to be talking at all. “What do you want, Shisui?” he asked tiredly. “I’m busy.”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I’m spying on you, remember?” Then, suddenly, he grinned, flashing bright white teeth. “I’m pretty good at it, huh?”

Itachi stared at him, wondering if this was another joke. “No,” he admitted, legitimately confused. “No, you’re not.”

“Why not?” he asked, appearing mildly offended, black eyes blinking.

“If you’re trying to spy on me, you should not reveal yourself to me.” This conversation had suddenly taken a turn for the stupid. Why not take it a step further? “If you like, I can teach you what I know.” He didn’t want to, not really. For one thing, Shisui was apparently, by his own admission, trying to spy on him. For another, from everything he knew of Shisui, his cousin was probably an embarrassingly inattentive student.

Shisui smirked, another full smile filled with secrets, as if he were constantly laughing at a joke that only he had heard. “I don’t need any training,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Maybe you do.”

Itachi raised one eyebrow. “Me? You’ve got to be the most ineffective spy I’ve ever met.”

His lips pursed. “You really think so?” He sank to the ground, bowing his head in deference. “Teach me, senpai,” he begged.

Itachi stared. He realized that he had a lot to learn about his cousin. Shisui seemed at once to be both an idiot and an eager trainee. That didn’t preclude him from remembering that spark of mystery though, the hint at something _more_ , lurking in those eyes. Itachi had never once been a fool. He could recognize a properly trained Shinobi when he saw one. That didn’t change the fact that Shisui was clearly a slacker and a ruffian far beneath him in skill and experience. “Sure,” he said to his cousin. Shisui would likely lose interest eventually, anyway, and they would be right back to where they had started. That suited his purposes just fine.

From that day on, Itachi became senpai and sensei. He never once thought it strange, to consider himself this man’s superior who had between four and five years on his age. Shisui lapped up his words as a kitten laps up milk. He studied, all the while seeing lessons beyond the veil of lessons, asking the proper questions and delivering carefully measured responses. Unexpectedly, Itachi’s cousin was a decent student after all, but Itachi was still cautious; Shisui _had_ admitted to spying on him, after all. Throwing caution to the wind would have been foolish. Itachi had no indication that Shisui’s skills had improved, but he was paying attention and seemed to know his stuff, so he figured that there was that, at least.

Shisui still followed Itachi around, sometimes close by and sometimes far away. For Itachi’s part, he pretended not to know that Shisui was even there. Someone had to have ordered that Shisui keep a watch on Itachi, and whether or not Shisui was reporting properly or not, he still needed to fulfill his duties to his officer, and Itachi respected that. It was something that struck too closely to his own purpose, anyhow, to have two masters, two motives at odds with each other. Itachi allowed him to follow, sometimes, so that he had something to write in his reports, careful of course not to be about top secret business when he had a tail. It lengthened his days considerably, but it couldn’t be helped.

Over time, having Shisui around ended up being less detestable than it had at first. In between Shisui’s playing at spy, though, they talked about mundane things like family and food and the weather. Not very often, but it happened. On one of those occasions, Itachi finally got up the nerve to ask him why he was doing this.

“Doing what?” he asked, lounging backward, one knee raised while the other leg stretched out. The breeze up there was cool; Itachi’s toes were cold, and he couldn’t imagine why Shisui let his toes hang over the cliff. They had to be feeling pretty icy by then. His eyes never met Itachi’s; Shisui often seemed lost in thought, strangely broody, in complete contrast to his often carefree attitude.

“Spying. Not spying,” Itachi answered. “This all started when you said you were spying on me.”

“I am spying on you,” he declared with a shrug. “Told you I would.”

Itachi frowned, watching him as he delivered his flippant remarks. “Telling someone you’re spying is not actually spying. We’ve been over this a hundred times now.”

“Oh?” he asked with a smirk, still not looking at him. “Have you been counting then?”

His face scrunched. No, he hadn’t. Exaggerating wasn’t like him, either. “No.”

“How many times then?” His hand resting on his lifted knee, he turned toward Itachi.

 _There. Right there_ , Itachi realized. That predatory gleam was back in his eyes. What _was_ that? Pinned by that gaze, he found it difficult to answer. It was strange, but Itachi could almost swear that he was being played, as if Shisui was actually in control of the situation and was toying with him, letting Itachi believe he was teaching him valuable information about espionage, all the while collecting all of the information he needed to report back to the police force. It was… a disturbing thought. If that was true, it meant that Itachi was in pretty deep trouble. Though he’d been careful to conceal what he had really been up to, if Shisui was more than he hinted at, he might have seen through all of Itachi’s careful choreography.

Shisui’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk disappearing entirely. “How many times, _exactly_ , have we been over this?” he asked calmly. His voice was deceptively serene, though, the eye of a violent storm. _Shinobi_ , he reminded himself again. The creep of authority. The air of command.

Suddenly, being confused about his cousin pissed him off. “I don’t know that,” he managed, feeling a knot of unhappiness at having to voice his inadequacy. He didn’t like that, not at all. In fact, he could hardly remember a time before when he’d been wrong about something. Being wrong about Shisui and being wrong about this was uncomfortable.

The hardness of that stare softened, the corners of his mouth turning upward again. Itachi almost sighed with relief. When Shisui went Shinobi on him like that it made Itachi feel almost… small. Weak. Like he was the amateur watching the work of a master. It was always like this, though, one fractional moment. Just a snapshot of the Shinobi that Shisui truly was. It was rare, a thing for which Itachi was glad. He was not accustomed to feeling inferior, and he did not like it at all. It made him feel… awkward, almost too visible and put on display. “No matter,” Shisui told him with a shrug. “It’s just that you should probably try to keep your words specific. Or not at all. Just a suggestion.”

The sound of his words seemed to hint that it was _not_ a suggestion, not by a long shot. Itachi felt as if Shisui had just labeled him a liar for his exaggeration, and he felt sorry for it. “It’s a good one,” he mumbled, not really feeling it.

“Didn’t hear you.” And there it was again, that frigid _voice_.

Itachi felt the spike of reprimand once again. “Thank you for the suggestion,” he said, louder and more clearly.

“Ah, that’s what you said!” he declared, chuckling, instantly warming.

Itachi was sure that he hated him.

 


	2. The Lacking

* * *

  _"The seduction of ones mind can take time, like an artist with a brush creating not art but passion filled lust_

_Seduction of the mind can be a great game the goal of which to light passions great flame. To fill the mind with that great desire to dance within passions great fire._

_When seduction of the mind comes first, it can release passion with a burst. Setting lovers free to explore, with their minds an open door."_

* * *

 

So it was that Itachi decided that he needed to do a little spying of his own. Having a deep black box where information on Uchiha Shisui should be was growing more and more troublesome by the moment. He could not afford to not understand his cousin and get away with it much longer. Konoha and the Uchiha clan might depend on it. At least, that was what he told himself as he began following his own spy, though the simple truth of the matter was that he was curious and intrigued. He was very careful, however, to not be found out. And, of course, he never mentioned it to Shisui, even if Shisui had foolishly mentioned to him.

Nothing interesting ever turned up, unfortunately, but Itachi’s patience had been honed. He could lay in wait for days on end without food and water if the target was worthwhile. Some information was just too important to sacrifice in lieu of personal comforts. He was losing a lot of valuable sleep, though his agenda did not suffer, but abandoning the notion that Shisui was ‘up to something’ didn’t sit right. Weeks passed without anything at all, an endless parade of follow-Shisui-to-work, follow-Shisui-home, day in and day out. He was embarrassingly easy to follow. Itachi was beginning to doubt the police force’s choice to task Shisui with this at all. Couldn’t they get someone with a little more… talent?

With a petulant frown, he wondered if perhaps he was less impressive than he had led himself to believe. All of his life, he had been praised as a genius and hailed as a prodigy. He’d preened under the attention, continually improving his skills until there were none left that could compare. At first, he’d done that to please his father, for he’d craved the man’s approval as any son would desire attention from his father. It became clear after only a short time, though, that anything that Itachi did had impressed Fugaku. And his mother was even worse. She praised him even in his failures. Her opinion was worthless, in the end, and did nothing to motivate him to do better. The next challenge had been for himself, to see how quickly he could fly through the academy. Disappointingly, that hadn’t proven much of an obstacle at all.

After that, he’d mostly been on his own, but the sycophants who admired his talents had gotten to be more irritating than helpful. It didn’t take much to impress those that watched. It had become almost boring, in a way, to put on half hearted displays of skill, hearing them _ooh_ and _aah_ and express their envy. Before too long, Itachi had begun ignoring them entirely, choosing instead to hone his skills alone. No one knew his personal best better than himself. No one knew the standard to which he held himself. No one had the credibility nor personal basis to pass judgment on how well he was doing. So, he just stopped letting them do it. He practiced alone, pushing himself to his limits and beyond. Longer times without food and water and sleep. Longer training sessions. More targets. Faster targets. A shorter time limit. Personal challenges to remain unseen.

He’d been a shoo-in for ANBU, and for a while he learned there as well. They seemed to share his perspective for improvement, and held him to a more rigorous set of rules. He appreciated that. But again, it hadn’t been long before he’d surpassed most of them, with the exception of a few, Hatake Kakashi being one. He continued to learn from Kakashi, but it was all too obvious that Kakashi was lost to his own dark thoughts and seldom had time to bother with training him one on one. The best that Itachi could hope for was to watch and emulate. It must have been working for him, though. They’d made him a captain at thirteen. He’d been proud of that, but also irritated. Captain of the ANBU by thirteen. What more was there, after that? Head of ANBU? Hokage?

He certainly didn’t want to stagnate this early in life,but it seemed as if there was nothing left to learn. Until now. Shisui made him wary and nervous, kept him on his toes and on edge. Shisui’s mercurial moods and personality quirks were fascinating, but also unbalancing. No sooner did Itachi become comfortable with who Shisui was at any given moment than Shisui suddenly switched again. It forced Itachi to pay way too much attention to his mood and where his thoughts may be, hanging on Shisui’s every word, noting every facial tic and behavior pattern or change. It gave Itachi the sense that Shisui was not everything that he seemed. Under the wrong circumstances, that could prove to be exceedingly precipitous. Hence, the spying.

Randomly and without warning, Shisui disappeared from Itachi’s sight. Completely disappeared. _Blurred_ out of existence as if he had never been. Itachi blinked, at first momentarily thrown off, which was already a fatal mistake, and he knew it. The moment a Shinobi lost his composure, he lost his life. He tensed muscles, coiling, preparing for the attack that never came. Shisui’s voice filtered down from the treetops. “You’re following me,” he observed, voice rich with amusement despite the prickling sense of danger in the atmosphere. Itachi’s eyes darted to the source of the voice, trying to pinpoint his location in case this went sour. “But why, I wonder.” This time, the voice was from a different treetop, completely opposite, impossibly so. _How…?_ “I wonder… could you be…” The voice had moved again. 

Itachi didn’t like being confused.

 “…a spy?” That time, the voice registered just behind him. _Too close._ He barely had time to twitch his face in that direction before he felt the hard stamp of a foot in his back and went sprawling forward. _How was he so fast?_ Just as quickly, his arms were twisted up behind his back, and Shisui’s full weight pressed him into the dirt, the tip of his elbow pressing down on the back of his head painfully. “Why are you following me, Itachi-kun, hm?”

Itachi didn’t want to answer. He was racking his brain to try to figure out how to escape. He strained against the hold on his wrists, bucked against the weight on his back, and pressed his head back against the elbow, but it seemed as if he was stuck fast. More importantly, though, Itachi wasn’t sure how he’d done it, another hidden gem of superiority that perplexed him. Furthermore, Shisui was apparently physically stronger than he was, and in the brute battle of strength to strength, he was losing, no contest. This kind of thing simply _didn’t happen_. Somehow, Shisui had managed to find out he was being followed, sneaked behind Itachi, and knocked him to the ground. He was actually captured. He felt the unfamiliar sting of failure, and hated Shisui for bringing that out in him.

A moment later he felt the tickle of his lips on his ear and Shisui’s demanding whisper. “I asked you a question. _Answer it._ ”

Ahh, there was _that voice_ again, that immediate and disorienting shift from teasing, mocking Shisui to elusive Shinobi captain. Except that, this close to his ear, with his warm breath reaching into his head, Itachi felt a foreign shiver deep in his belly. It was strange, and he didn’t like it, but his blood leapt to obey anyway, and the words spilled from his lips without his permission. “I had to know,” he grated, struggling to find the breath to speak with his weight pinning him to the earth, still fighting the feelings of confusion and humiliation.

Shisui laughed, the pulsating cadence of exhalations caressing Itachi’s eardrums. He shut his eyes, wondering at the unwelcome sensations that stirred deep within his gut. Another mystery of Shisui that he might never understand. The poison cocktail of Shisui’s personality kept him just curious enough to pay attention, just frustrated enough to try harder, and just stubborn enough to stick with this trajectory until it had finished playing itself out. What was this strange, mysterious power that continued to best him at every turn? And why was Shisui stronger than he was? He felt the twitch of Shisui’s smirk against his cheek. “Curiosity,” Shisui purred, entertained. “Cute.”

That _word_ again. _Embarrassing_. Itachi’s mind fuzzed over, struggling to make sense of the whole situation from start to finish. Shisui, following him and admitting to spying on him. Shisui, simultaneously laughing and learning, smiling and frowning, prankster and Shinobi all in one. Itachi was having a hard time learning who this man was; no sooner than he thought he had his cousin all figured out, Shisui flipped a switch and became someone else entirely. He wore personalities like other Shinobi wore masks, except that all of his looked the same and yet weren’t. Maybe there wasn’t a ‘Shisui’ at all, and he was merely a reflection of an adopted persona he pulled from his own personal library to keep his enemy off guard. 

And Itachi found that he was… jealous. How was it that Shisui was all of these things, layers of color and emotion so confusing that they had evolved above and beyond the Shinobi way? Itachi had eliminated his emotions; any who tried to read him found that they couldn’t, and that simple fact seemed to unnerve them. He had considered that a true talent of his, in fact. Shisui on the other hand, wore the emotion he felt was best suited. He put people at ease, deceived them into believing what he wished them to believe. In this, he had tricked and captured Itachi, luring him into a false sense of superiority and safety. Itachi had not considered that before, but it seemed to be a practical tool. “How?” he breathed, spoken from the depth of awe, unrestrained. “How do you do it?”

“Hn,” Shisui snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His grip on Itachi’s wrist lessened, a momentary warning before he gracefully dismounted, standing and ready before Itachi had a chance to leap to his feet. They stood, eyeing each other, Itachi’s heart fluttering for the nerves and strange brand of fear brought upon by Shisui’s effortless ability to unbalance and overpower him. Shisui, for his part, merely smirked knowingly, perpetuating the sense that he knew something Itachi didn’t. That thought was infuriating; Shisui was eternally a step ahead of him, and somehow it had given his cousin an advantage Itachi craved. _Second_ best was simply unacceptable.

“Yes, I would like to know,” Itachi told him seriously, quashing the irritation. “Can you teach me?” _Those_ words tasted sour and foul.

Shisui’s eyes hardened, the smiling quality gone. “No,” he said firmly. “This is something that you will learn on your own.”

Disappointment assailed him. No one had ever refused him as a student before. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Most were far too eager and overjoyed to have him as a student, feeding him information he didn’t even need, offering him an extravagant feast of knowledge that he neither cared for nor wanted. It was another reason he was glad to be working alone. But _this_? “Why not?” he asked, aggravated.

“Reasons,” Shisui said nonchalantly with an easy shrug. Then, he added, “You lack discipline, for starters.”

_I lack…!_

His nostrils flared as anger bloomed. It wasn’t often that Itachi ever experienced the hot flashes of human emotion anymore. He’d done a pretty good job of suppressing them over the years. Love was a carefully banked fire that he only ever stirred for his little brother, and then only sparingly. He didn’t have the time or the energy for it. It confused him. Feelings were painful. Sasuke’s loneliness was painful. Sadness was useless and easily ignored and justified away. Friendship was equally worthless. He knew to suppress fear and panic as easily as breathing, and the rest of his emotions had just kind of followed suit. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to feel anymore. These things were Shinobi tenets that were more forcefully encouraged during his time with ANBU. But anger… Itachi was never _angry_. There was no use for that.

This time was different. Itachi had poured every ounce of his _being_ into Shinobi doctrine. He had discarded his individual self to become ninja in every sense of the word, embodying the Shinobi Way, incarnated as its prime example. He had surpassed expectations for every lesson, blazed his own trail, become his own teacher. He was beyond his father, beyond his clan, beyond even ANBU at this point. For someone, even someone like Shisui, to even _suggest_ that he lacked discipline was simply untrue. He possessed more discipline in one foot than anyone in the world did in a lifetime, even Shisui.

No, _especially_ Shisui.

“Uh-huh,” Shisui said knowingly, interrupting his internal tirade, chin rising. “That’s what I thought.”

Itachi felt small again. He’d missed something. _Again_. What had Shisui seen this time? He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood, shaking with rage and sucking on the bitter taste of failure. This whole messed up situation was irksome and maddening. “What?” he snapped, losing a hold on his sanity momentarily. “What do you know? How do you do it? Tell me!”

Shisui’s eyebrow rose, a wicked curve of cruelty. He didn’t answer, but instead turned to leave.

_“Please!”_ he blurted, falling to his knees. His voice sounded desperate and needy even to his own ears. Shame was a close friend, but he would cuddle shame to death if it murdered the sense of failure and weakness. If he had to beg, he would. There was something that his cousin knew that Itachi simply _needed_ to know, and would have at any cost.

Blessedly, though, Shisui’s foot set back down in its original placement. Itachi almost fainted from the overwhelming sense of relief. His palms eased to rest in the dirt beside him. He didn’t even care enough to realize that that was supposed to seem a strange feeling. He waited, blinking up at the older man, waiting for his first nugget of wisdom, some scrap of knowledge that he could study inside and out and understand completely.

All that happened was a slow, deliberate smile, devilish and cruel, and it froze Itachi’s next breath in his lungs. “Ah,” Shisui said, his voice soft and gentle. “There he is. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.” He crossed the space between them, and in that suspended moment in time, Itachi didn’t dare move, nor breathe, nor look away as Shisui reached down and patted his head like a cherished pet. And then, with a quick hand sign and a much more comfortable, teasing grin, he blurred away, leaving Itachi bewildered for all manner of reasons.

 

 


	3. Freely Given

* * *

  _“Everybody has an addiction. Mine just happens to be you.”_

* * *

 

It was several months later, several months of these silly games, before Itachi realized that Shisui had come to mean something to him. He found himself wanting to talk to the older boy, wanting to share the details of top secret missions, wanting to ask for guidance or confess his fears. He knew it was foolish, and told himself that countless times. Shisui had been sent to spy on him, no matter what he seemed or what he said. To divulge too much was unwise. That didn’t stop him from having the desire, though. There was something about Shisui that inspired trust. Something that drew him closer, wearing at the lock on his words, coaxing out emotions that he’d shut away, emotions like anger, frustration, and helplessness, but in a way that didn’t make him feel broken and alone as he had before.  

Of course, that was most likely Shisui’s most powerful weapon. Itachi was teetering on the edge of seppuku upon that particular blade, granting his winsome cousin his mission success. Eventually he would feel the need to speak, beyond caring, and either he would be damned or saved. Neither mattered.

Eventually, something had to give. And so, finally, Itachi brought it up. “How much about me do you actually know?” he asked hesitantly while they sat above the Naka, as they usually did. It was a grey day, probably going to rain. He’d always liked the gloomy days, though. The sun made him squint and burned the sensitive tissues of his eyes, and seemed a little too garish besides. The greyness of days that begged for rain seemed much more suited to his lifestyle; not too hot, not too cold. Not too bright, not too dim. It felt like an aura of waiting, and of quiet. It was quite nice, actually.

Shisui smirked, as usual, his eyes drifting skyward. “Hmm…” he hummed, thinking to himself. “What do I know about you…” There was a soft chuckle, and sly glance in Itachi’s direction. “I wager I probably know a lot more about you than you do yourself,” he answered cryptically.

What was it that Shisui kept seeing that he saw fit to answer in incomplete thoughts or half answers, Itachi wondered? It was never good enough, but every time he did it, Itachi only felt that familiar ache of dismay, that he simply wasn’t good enough yet, continuously missing some kind of important cue. Shisui perplexed him. It was irritating but, he realized with a measure of joy, it _had_ been keeping him on his toes. His mind was sharpening, seeing things he hadn’t seen before, paying much closer attention than he might have before Shisui had become a permanent affixation in his life. In fact, his alacrity and perceptions had improved markedly since Shisui had begun to refuse to leave him alone. Itachi faced him, sitting cross-legged and staring at him intently, begging with his eyes. “Will you please tell me what you know about me?” he asked.

Shisui raised one brow, watching him as a panther watches prey, playing with his food. “Why do you want to know?” he asked teasingly.

Itachi shrugged. “Curiosity,” he mused out loud. Shisui typically seemed to like that answer. It worked on him most of the time.

It didn’t work this time. That playful gaze sharpened, pierced him, as it sometimes did. Every time that happened, Itachi’s being was snapped back to the lines of subordinacy, a phenomenon he still didn’t fully understand. Every time he disappointed Shisui, he felt it as keenly as any wound, and it healed much more slowly. “You’re lying,” Shisui observed, displeasure rolling off of him in waves. Already, Itachi wanted that word back, to replace it with the right one. But what was the right one? “Itachi,” Shisui bade him, leaning forward slightly, ensnaring his gaze, no less powerful for lack of the Sharingan’s use, increased in power and intoxication for the nakedness of his name without suffix. Itachi swayed toward him, holding his breath, waiting for the lesson. _Wisdom, yes, please,_ he thought. It wasn’t wisdom that he offered, though, but an accusation of sorts. “Everything I know of you I’ve kept to myself,” he spoke, his voice barely audible, for the two of them alone. “I know of your involvement with the clan,” he said slowly, sickly sweet. “I know of your missions in ANBU. And,” he added, drawing the words out even more, “I know of your loyalty to Konoha, and the burdens you bear between them. I know… that you’re a _traitor_.” The last word was said on a whisper, a sinister breath of indictment.

The world reeled, clawing at his heart, making him swallow his own tongue. Shisui knew _everything_. How long had he known? Whom had he told? _Danger_ , his mind provided. _Too dangerous to live. Kill first, apologize later_. Instinctively, he reached for a knife, quick as a viper, elite training superseding human limitation.

Shisui was upon him before he was ever able to pull it, faster than the eye could move, even with Itachi’s Sharingan blazing, blood red and searching. His right forearm crashed into Itachi’s throat, left hand pinning his wrist. The knife clattered out of its holster, useless upon the grass. Itachi’s body was pinned with the lower half of Shisui’s. It was awkward, and it made his throat catch for a different reason altogether. Being pinned that way was far too intimate, even for an enemy to his intended victim. The sharp lines of Shisui’s hips dug into his unprotected legs, leaving him wincing with pain.

He expected to see anger in Shisui’s eyes, that he had dared to consider attacking. Instead, Shisui’s black eyes regarded him placidly, almost bored, as if trying to figure him out. Itachi wasn’t sure what to do about that, was so put off by Shisui’s black, unmuted eyes, staring bravely into his own Sharingan as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Escaping was, of course, out of the question. It would require him to move far too much, and with Shisui’s groin pressed into his, that was bound to be uncomfortable in all sorts of ways. He stared back, black eyes boring into red eyes, waiting for the inevitable death. “You’re kind of a brat, aren’t you?” Shisui asked him rhetorically, sucking at the inside of his cheek, face swaying over his own, quietly analyzing, regarding him from beneath lashes that, up close, seemed far too long for a man. Itachi knew he wasn’t supposed to answer that, so he didn’t. His life was, quite literally, in Shisui’s hands. The only thing to do was to surrender, try to appear helpless, appeal to his cousin’s good graces and hope he wasn’t killed.

Something in his expression must have pleased Shisui, though, for suddenly he smiled, a sweet, amicable smile. “I tell you what, Itachi-kun,” he offered, as if throwing him a cookie for good behavior. “I won’t kill you. _If_ —“ he stressed, poking the tip of his nose with the pinky finger of the hand across his throat, “you tell me the truth this time. _Why_ do you want to know what I know? Be specific. I can be a little… dense.” His tone suggested dangerous things, for it was clear from his sharp, suddenly intelligent expression and the biting tone of his words that he had been perfectly aware that Itachi had dismissed his skills as inadequate, a mistake Itachi now felt keenly.

Itachi swallowed, painfully, the involuntary ripple of muscles in his throat struggling to push aside the iron grip that held it. He didn’t dare utter anything but the truth, not this time. “I want to know that I can trust you,” he told the other earnestly, laying the truth bare, letting the façade slip a little. In his mind, he thought of all the things he wanted to say, about the nightmares, the missions, the stress of being Itachi, anything and everything, just so that someone else could hear and sympathize. He’d never wanted that before. He had believed he could shoulder all of those burdens alone. He probably could, but he found he didn’t want to anymore.

Did Shisui, a man he regarded as his superior, have those same kinds of problems? Did Shisui feel fear?

Shisui’s lips parted and his teeth mashed into his tongue, caged in the hint of a smile. “Good boy,” he told Itachi. “Fortunately for you, I can believe that you meant that. I’m disappointed, though,” he added, his smile slipping away as he cocked his head sideways like a cat. “I would have thought you could have figured that out. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius?” Without waiting for Itachi to answer—and without allowing him to get up, either—he went on to explain. “If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If I’d have spilled all of your dirty little secrets, someone else would have been sent to kill you. My silence and my friendship—and the pronounced lack of assassins—should have been testament enough. Do you know what that means?”

He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure how to say it. “You don’t want me dead,” he responded.

“No,” Shisui replied, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. “I don’t want you dead, Itachi-kun. There’s more to it than that, though, if you’d but open your eyes.”

 _More to it?_ He wondered. _Like what?_ He wasn’t about to fail this lesson, though, not with Shisui’s face that close and expecting an answer. He couldn’t bear to be wrong twice in one day. Even once was almost more than he could stand. Shisui’s black eyes blinked, wide and friendly once again, patient, encouraging him to take his time and think about it. So he did. They’d been playing spy versus spy for the better part of five months now. And if Shisui hadn’t relayed any information on him, that meant that he'd made a pretty damning choice. Realization dawned. “You disobeyed your orders,” he breathed.

Shisui’s features stretched upward, his brows retreating towards his hairline. Itachi understood that to mean that he was on the right track, but not quite there. He racked his brain… knowing what Shisui knew of his subterfuge and not acting upon it, particularly when he reported to the Uchiha police force… “You… chose me over the clan,” he quietly dared. It was unthinkable, to weigh his worth against that of an entire people, and made absolutely no logical sense besides.

But Shisui’s broad grin and short nod confirmed it. “Ahh, there he is,” he congratulated. “ _Now_ will you promise not to try to kill me again?” Itachi nodded, feeling the strangest warmth in his heart at the revelation that he’d been deemed more worthy than his entire clan. His arm retracted, his hand releasing Itachi’s wrist, and Shisui rolled back onto the balls of his feet, relaxing into an easy squat between Itachi’s feet. The air seemed chillier for his absence, and Itachi was rather startled to note how comfortable he’d been with his cousin laying there. _This situation only ever seems to get weirder,_ he thought as he rubbed his bruised wrist and looked over at the man who'd bruised it. Shisui’s easy, carefree smile was back, Shinobi Shisui fled. Itachi was glad for it. It was much easier to relax in the presence of this version. “Well in that case, tell me anything and everything you wish,” Shisui commanded softly.

Suddenly shy, Itachi broke eye contact, his eyes falling to his hands, working his wrist, unable to find the words. He hadn’t quite expected for Shisui to be so understanding. After all, they’d spent the better part of half a year spying on each other, which was tantamount to killing in the Shinobi world. And now, after Itachi had drawn a weapon on him, suddenly Shisui wanted to talk to him. _Really_ talk to him. He… wasn’t sure what to say.

“Look at me.” The words were said softly, a caress. They were just encouraging enough to bring Itachi back, just commanding enough that ‘no’ was not an option. Itachi breathed in deeply, willing himself to look at Shisui. He took the much-needed moment to compose himself, quashing all of the fears and insecurity of the horrors that he had endured alone. Suddenly, he didn’t want to share it with Shisui. If his cousin knew… what would he think? _Look at me_ … the words echoed in his ears, reverberating, sloughing off layers of defenses with every gentle echo. The pale ghost of Shisui’s fingers broke through his lowered peripheral, tapping the underside of Itachi’s chin, forcing his face to rise. Itachi looked up, locking onto deep, dark eyes, so like his own. There was fathomless compassion written there, patience older than the earth. “Nothing will happen to you. I promise you that.”

Something painful that existed in his heart without his knowledge suddenly snapped, pierced through by the power fueling Shisui’s eyes and enveloping his voice. It was a kind of ancient magic that Itachi could not even begin to grasp. It started with his stupid grin, was carried by the weight of authority evident in that complex, rich voice, and ended with that feather-light yet insistent pressure against his chin. _Nothing will happen to you. I promise you that._ The lock on his tongue broke. All of his secrets came pouring out, one after another, a conduit that could not be stopped. He divulged every scrap of information he’d gathered on the secret dealings of the Uchiha and how the council was planning to resolve their rebelliousness. He recounted tales of broken and bleeding children, watching the light go out in their eyes, the way that some of them had begged for life right before he’d denied them that… he cried—cried!—to remember how a little boy who had looked _just like Sasuke_ had recently wrapped his tiny fingers around the blade of Itachi’s sword, cutting his palms to ribbons, while he begged Itachi not to kill his mother. He confessed, brokenly, about how concerned he was for Sasuke himself, that he’d lose the sullen pout in favor of ANBU callousness, his passionate childhood murdered by cold indifference.

_Like him._

By the end of it, he was tucked into Shisui’s arms and it didn’t feel strange anymore. Shisui pressed Itachi's face to his chest, making shushing sounds as if he were holding a child and not a decorated ANBU captain. Itachi was embarrassed. For having unloaded all of his fears—which sounded silly now—and the horrible things he had done. “I’m here. You’re all right,” Shisui soothed.

Itachi rested there quietly for what might have been a really long time, feeling oddly comfortable that way, unsure why, until he had almost fallen asleep. “Time to get you home,” Shisui breathed into his ear.

 _Nooo,_ he mourned. Home was an uncomfortable place. It was filled with secrets and sadness, a father who watched his every move, a mother who simply had no idea who he was, and a little brother who would hate him if he _did_ know. At home, he was a stranger, an artfully crafted masterpiece of lies stacked upon lies. Here, with Shisui, everything was true. Shisui was a devious spy, but Itachi was, too. He couldn’t say that to Shisui, though. It would sound silly. He was a Shinobi; he’d already behaved indecorously enough for one day.

Shisui’s grip on his shoulder was the only thing that kept him from dying. “You shouldn’t be so gloomy, Itachi-kun. It doesn’t suit you. Smile a little, yeah?”

He tried it, dragging the ghost of a weak smile, though it felt foreign. It did make him feel… better somehow. Calmer. Safer. Stronger. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Itachi nodded, finding that it was indeed true. “Good boy.”

He spent the better part of his evening trying to figure out what that might mean. Nothing made sense, but then, most things in Itachi’s life had never made sense. Like, why did the Uchiha clan despise the Senju, and why did that even matter to a Konoha ruled by the Sarutobi clan? Why would anyone choose war over peace? Why was it that Itachi always felt like he was so far above the others, that he was the only one who could see the flaws in the philosophies, the cracks in the walls? The politics and currents of hatred were as clear to Itachi as neon lines on a map. Sometimes he was so overcome with the frustrations of knowing what needed to be done and having to restrain himself that he felt he would snap in two.  He’d have snapped already if not for…

...

…Shisui.

He loosed a heavy sigh.

**  
  
**


	4. Crown of Night

* * *

_“In any given moment we have two options: to step forward into growth or to step back into safety.” –Abraham Maslow_

* * *

 

“Shisui’s following you,” his father told him in a low voice, his expression betraying nothing.

Itachi should have suspected that his father would catch on eventually. Uchiha Fugaku was a shrewd man who never wasted his efforts and never let his assets go to waste. Itachi himself was Fugaku’s most earnest investment. The livelihood of his son was of priority importance, and it had less to do with paternal affection or the genes that he carried and more to do with the secret mission that Itachi was about, ‘spying’ on the Konoha council and ratting out ANBU. “I know,” was Itachi’s answer.

Fugaku stared at him, deciphering. Namely, why Itachi had not done anything about it. He asked with his eyes, without a need for voice. Itachi would tell him. They’d done this dance a number of times; questions without asking, statements with the eyes, an understanding born of working closely together since the time that Itachi was a child—if indeed he had ever been a child at all. “He has been following me for a while now.”

“Why?” It was a single-word question that covered so many bases, and none of the hidden questions were lost upon him.

“The police force doesn’t trust you, so they’re watching me,” Itachi replied, sipping his tea. Shisui wasn’t here today, which was good. Likely, Itachi would have to lie to deceive his father, and he wasn’t entirely certain whether Shisui would believe the lies or grasp the truth. Shisui was cleverer than he let on, but when caution was possible, Itachi wouldn’t deny it. “I haven’t done anything about it because he’s right where I can see him.”

Fugaku frowned and retreated into his thoughts. _Think twice, act once,_ Itachi recited within his own mind. It was a tenet of his father’s, and a wise one. They were both silent for a time as Fugaku navigated the sea of connections and political snafus collected in his own mind. Fugaku’s ability to _see_ was something that Itachi had once admired, though he’d mastered it not long ago and no longer needed the practice. Fugaku had been strong as a clan leader, if a bit gruff. Finally, thoughts sorted, he began asking questions. “Is he dangerous?”

“No,” Itachi lied. The reality was that the enormity of the knowledge Shisui possessed was enough to condemn him and his father several times over. Here, across from his father and away from the power of Shisui’s influence, Itachi no longer felt the full depth of the same trust they’d built. Shisui made him nervous in person, but even more so when Itachi couldn’t see him and didn’t know what he was doing. He knew little of his cousin and his motives. All he knew of Shisui was what his cousin had deigned to tell him and not a _fragment_ more. That, and the odd hold he seemed to have over Itachi, silently coaxing Itachi to spill critical secrets about anyone and everyone, including himself. _Dangerous?_ The word didn’t even begin to describe Uchiha Shisui. Perilous. Deadly. An incalculable, idiotic risk.

His father strengthened his unease with his next warning. “Itachi, if he finds out anything, _anything at all,_ the Black Ops can pull it from him easily and we’re all done here.” 

 _Done_. Dead, their progress halted, their purpose defused. He knew that. “Shall I kill him then?” he asked, meeting his father’s eyes. A simple question, no hints at any kind of feeling. He didn’t want to kill Shisui. Whether or not the answers ever made a simple kind of sense, Shisui was important to him now. He had someone that would listen to him, forced him to become better. He was the star by which Itachi set his compass, and without that he would be lost again. He had been miserable when he had been lost. What was he now? Happy?

_No. Confused. Yet… content?_

Fugaku thought about it in his patient way. The silence between them was killing Itachi, leaving him more than enough time to imagine having to kill his mentor— _friend?_ —In various ways. Then, finally, “No. Not yet. I don’t relish the idea of having to kill one of the clan, but… if it comes to that, don’t hesitate.”

Itachi nodded once in assent. That had been his plan all along… or so he had told himself.

* * *

 

They were walking side by side, pleasantly quiet, when suddenly, Shisui grabbed ‘him by the front of his shirt and slammed his back into a tree. Itachi blinked with surprise, but by now he understood that Shisui had never been trying to kill him. Perhaps he was just being overdramatic; he did that sometimes. His gaze was intense, wide, frantic eyes peering into Itachi’s own. It was the first time Itachi could recall seeing anything in them akin to fear. He didn’t like that. “Itachi-kun,” Shisui asked him quietly, “tell me true. Do you really think they’ll do it?”

 _Ah_. He should have known that Shisui was listening in on _that_ conversation. Since he had chosen to trust Shisui, he’d stopped dictating when and where the man could follow him, and today’s jaunt had taken them into the confidences of the council, and Danzou’s fatal admission that he would wipe out the Uchiha if it came to it. Itachi smirked, taking a page from Shisui himself, trying to make light of the situation. “I thought you knew everything?” he teased.

Shisui shook him once, hard. “This isn’t a joke, Itachi-kun,” he admonished. Something dark and powerful in his voice stole the smile from Itachi’s face. He was right, of course. It was just that Itachi didn’t like seeing him this way. “If the Uchiha try this, we’re all dead, don’t you understand?”

Of course he did, but even if he said so, Shisui would still think he knew better. And hell, he usually did. “You know I’ll do whatever you ask,” Itachi whispered, surprised at the zealous sound of the words flying out of his own mouth. What was he saying? Would Shisui ask him to kill? He didn’t know, but the one thing that he was certain of was that, for whatever crazy reason, he _would_. “Lead me.”

That brought Shisui back. The fear fled from his expression, replaced by the secretly laughing version that Itachi liked best. “Ah, Itachi-kun,” Shisui hummed affectionately, grazing his cheek with one hand. “If you only knew of half the things that you could do…” He shook his head. “With the right guidance, you will unlock your true power, become someone truly great.”

“So teach me,” Itachi bade him. This was a recurring argument, though Shisui never thoroughly responded. Itachi often begged him to teach him more, to train him properly, like a real sensei. There was much that he could learn from Shisui, that much was obvious. Shisui’s cool exterior and zest for life, on top of his insurmountable talent. Over the months, Itachi had grown more than envious; he _coveted_. Shisui was the one person that he had not surpassed, and probably wouldn’t. That, and the secrets that shifted behind the black void of his eyes, fascinated Itachi more than anything. He relished his time with Shisui, admiring everything that Shisui represented, things that Itachi was not but aspired to be.

“No,” Shisui rejected roughly, denying him again, _always_ denying him.

Despair tugged, ugly and sour, made him desperate. “Will you _ever_ teach me?” Itachi whined. Itachi wanted to be a part of that world, whatever it was. There were secrets, delectably dark, powerful secrets, hiding somewhere within his cousin. They were the mysteries of a _true_  shinobi, a stronger being, power of an unobtainable kind, elevated, superior. He knew intrinsically that it was a presence that he would never achieve of ANBU. No, there was simply no one who could teach him to be what Shisui was except for Shisui himself.

Shisui’s eyes darkened, deeper black, pools of hell and wicked things, instantaneously shocking Itachi straight to the core. _What in the hell_ was _that?!_ Whatever had flashed behind his gaze, it had been terrifying, a darkness so deep it had no bottom. Itachi swallowed, afraid, but entranced. Oh yes, there was much to learn from his mysterious cousin. Much, indeed. Shisui stepped closer, invading Itachi’s personal space. His heart pounded, wondering what he had done wrong. Instead, he was rewarded with having his face grabbed roughly. Shisui’s eyes dragged over his guise, digging through Itachi’s thoughts, seeing through him. Itachi couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Some kind of connection was forming between them, and for that short moment in time, nothing existed but that bond. “Oh yes,” Shisui whispered, his eyes drooping, away from Itachi’s eyes. “I will teach you _all manner of things_. That I will promise you.” He released Itachi’s face and stepped back. “When I know you can handle it.” And back to the smile, the spell evaporating.

Itachi became his frustration, impatient for the only lesson he had ever been denied. He felt the bubbles of anger, but he forced them down, remembering how Shisui had patronized him for his angry outburst months before. How else had he appealed to the older boy, though? “Please, tell me what I must do to prepare,” he pleaded, sinking to the ground before Shisui, his forehead pressed to the dirt.

There was a quiet pause, broken only by a huff of amusement. “You’re already at it,” Shisui told him fondly, ruffling his hair. “And when it’s time, I am sure you will not disappoint.”

* * *

 

“Shisui’s been meeting secretly with the Hokage,” his father informed him. “What will you do, Itachi?”

That _did_ trouble him. He had had no idea. Itachi had made many difficult decisions in his lifetime. None of them compared to this. He could vividly recall the face of everyone he had ever killed, their faces contorted in various stages of screaming, pleading, or horror. In his imagination, he conjured up the laughing, smirking, secretive mask of Uchiha Shisui, and knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that if he had to kill his cousin, he’d never remember that smile anymore. All he would know was that grotesque twist of death, and it would haunt him forever, more dastardly than any of his previous crimes against humanity. Shisui was lovely; it would be such a shame to snuff him out.

And, too, he thought of that strangely intense gaze, an intangible but forceful lance that Shisui reserved only for him. It put a pit in his stomach.

Kill Shisui? He didn’t want to, but… one glance at his father and he knew that this was a test. Which loyalty was he supposed to admit to? The village? The clan? ANBU? “I’ll take care of it,” Itachi assured his father, a safely vague answer that would give him more time to sort it out.  

“Good.”

* * *

 

There were few times that he had ever been to Shisui’s home. It was distantly removed from the cluster of houses in the Uchiha compound, surrounded by lavish gardens and shadowed by shade trees. He slunk through the gate a little past midnight. Shisui tended to work in the mornings, so Itachi was relatively certain that his cousin would be asleep at that time. His mind was abuzz with all of the reasons that he needed to kill Shisui, trying to tell himself that it was for the best. He knew too much. He was too dangerous. There were too many questions left unanswered.

All of the earlier calm he had felt, the sleepy serenity that was granted him around his cousin, was completely gone. In its place, the frantic cacophony of dangers and nightmares assailed him, and they began and ended with Shisui dying. Before he could go in there, he needed to quell that, stat. He stood outside one of the windows—doors were always a bad idea, though windows weren’t much better—searching for that void within himself that would afford him the detachment he needed to do what must be done. He shoved aside all of the confusion, the sadness, and the inexplicable personal attachment. Tonight, Shisui was a target. An objective. Nothing but a mission. He could not waver. If he even hesitated, it would be all over. One momentary pause, and Shisui would know and Itachi would be dead.

Truthfully, Itachi was more nervous than he could ever remember being. Shisui’s power surpassed his own. That was intimidating enough. But, any enemy could be eliminated if surprise tactics were used, no matter how strong. Shisui would be sleeping when he struck. Knowing this calmed him. He took one last deep breath to steady his nerves, then slid open the window and disappeared inside, as soundless as the night itself.

He rolled into a crouch, spider walking across the floor of Shisui’s home. He knew precisely where Shisui’s room was, though he’d only been here a couple of times, and never for longer than it took for his cousin to collect a few things. When he got near to the open doorway, though, he froze. There was the sound of deep, peaceful breathing within, as of a person sleeping… but there was the sound of a second as well.

That gave Itachi pause, and for all of the wrong reasons. He’d never even entertained the thought that Shisui might have a lover, though in retrospect that seemed stupid. _Of course_ Shisui had a lover; he was a successful ninja with a desirable bloodline and good physical looks. He was stunned into inaction, though, when he realized numbly that he wasn’t sure what he thought about that. He should be happy for his cousin. Or he shouldn’t care. Or he _really_ shouldn’t care, since Shisui—and probably that girl, too, whomever she was—would be dead soon and it wouldn’t matter.

Except that what Itachi felt was an ugly medley of all kinds of unpleasant things. Like jealousy, that it was possible that someone had known Shisui more closely than he ever had. Someone, not Itachi, had a sampling of all those tantalizing secrets, ones he had worked so hard for all this time. And, too, he felt rejection, that Shisui had never seen fit to tell him about a relationship. Why was it that he, Itachi, was still kept distant, still lacking?

He stood there for a long time, his sword gleaming in the shaft of moonlight from the window. He didn’t know what to do. It was his own mistake, really. He’d never hesitated before. Targets were targets, bags of meat filled with water that painted red and smelled of iron. You poked them and they cooled off, and that was it. Except that this one was Shisui, and Shisui was in love, and he… didn’t like his own world, he realized. He didn’t want to live in it, would rather not have to face the terror and ugliness, at the very least not alone. No, he wanted to live in _Shisui’s_ world. He _liked_ Shisui. Next to Sasuke, Shisui was probably his favorite person. He’d actually _miss_ the guy.

That was… new.

Who was he supposed to follow, if not Shisui? What was he supposed to be? He’d never get to learn the secrets that Shisui could teach him. He sighed, realizing he hadn’t thought this through very thoroughly, hadn’t counted on the hesitation or other variables that might stay his hand.

A prickling between his shoulder blades made him swallow his heart, for it was a sensation he recognized as _impending doom._ With a start, he realized that he’d been so lost in thought that he’d missed something vitally important. Shisui’s silhouette sat straight up in bed, palms pressed to the mattress, red eyes gleaming like freshly spilled blood in the darkness. His breath caught in his throat as it dawned on him that he had never seen Shisui’s Sharingan before. “Itachi,” he purred, a voice laden with power and command, deeper and more visceral than ever before. If he had thought about running, or of completing this particular mission, those were impossible thoughts now. A sound emerged from his own throat, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. “Come to kill me again?” That tone of amusement was there now, leaked into his voice like a bad wash job, dyes running together indiscriminately, a sugary blend of authority and jest.

Too late, Itachi understood. All of the facets of Shisui that he had seen were merely pieces of the real one. Now, here he sat, wearing all of his faces as comfortably as he wore his skin. And as for his skin… Itachi retreated, his steps dragging backward automatically as Shisui stood slowly, deliberately, pushing his body off the mattress, wearing nothing at all but a mantle of divine power so heavy that it coiled around Itachi’s every joint and held him fast. In the light of the full moon outside, and with his red eyes swimming with the furor of a god, demarcated by a wheel of barbed black that promised death to all and sundry, and backed up by the power of _that voice,_ Shisui was a _god_. His skin was pale and lit by the glow of the brightly lit world beyond, the dark curls upon his head like the crown of night itself. Itachi swallowed whatever words he had planned to say—as if he could think coherently enough to plan—and nearly wept for the beauty of it all. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” came the inappropriate words.

Shisui laughed, low and silken, the woman in the bed behind him forgotten, whoever she was. If she mattered, Shisui gave no indication. Right now, in that moment, it was only Shisui and Itachi. The peal of that laughter was like a tickle to unseen places, deep within. His gut twisted, paralyzing him through and through. Shisui walked towards him purposefully, step by agonizingly slow step, leaving the moonlight behind. Itachi mourned the vision, for it heightened his view of Shisui’s hellish eyes and nothing else. Itachi felt as if he had not had the chance to see enough. Shisui tsk tsked, chastising, disappointed.

Itachi’s knees quaked. Even in this, he had failed. Shisui was glorious, and Itachi was unworthy. “I’m sorry,” he mourned, tears striking from his eyes. He couldn’t quite grasp what he was apologizing for, but he knew for a certainty that he’d done something wrong, and he was so, _so_ sorry.

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Shisui hissed in the darkness, a sibilant whisper that both thrilled and frightened him. Strangely, to Itachi’s ears, he did sound apologetic. “It’s my fault that we are here,” he lamented. “You’re very young. I believed you were not ready. I might not have been completely correct. So, I think we can have _one_ lesson tonight.” The seductive purr dropped its warm tones, became coldly authoritative, mechanical and icy. “That is, if you still wish to learn.”

Itachi shivered, feeling vulnerable and lonely in the emptiness. Shisui was close, but not close enough. His body trembled, yearning for something, he didn’t know what. It was the hint at something more that he’d only tasted briefly, enough to whet the appetite but never satisfy. Something that only Shisui had, that no one else had even come close to matching. He shut his eyes, felt the truth of it in his heart, let the shameful tears fall to the floor. Itachi was the darkness, untamed and unruly, broken in so many little ways. Behind his eyelids, the only thing that Itachi saw was Shisui, sculpted muscles bathed in moonlight, wicked lines a feast for the senses. The scent of male, powerful and heady.

Itachi shook from his fingertips down to his toes, quaking all over with excitement and anticipation, the promise of something mysterious that he knew would be wonderful and wicked and worth the long wait. Beyond the blackness of his eyes, within and without, Shisui was waiting. Though there was nothing at all calm about Itachi in that moment, his voice was clear when he answered, “Yes.”

 

**  
  
**


	5. Sir

* * *

_“I will peel back all your defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. I will claim the deepest parts of your soul, all the hidden areas you did not know existed. I will take you places so dark that you’ll need me to pull you back out. I will accept nothing less than everything.”_

* * *

 

“Drop your sword,” Shisui commanded. There were no more facets of Shisui. Itachi realized with awe that he had been played all along. Shisui was a master of his craft. When Itachi hesitated, suddenly loath to be parted from his weapon, Shisui flickered to within inches of his face. Itachi blinked, startled, his eyes shifting before he knew what he was doing. Shisui’s red eyes glared right back into his, a tenuous battle for dominance of the Sharingan alone, though neither made a move to use it. “I will only say this once, because you’re new,” Shisui murmured, grasping his chin in both hands. “When I give you a command, you will obey it, immediately and without question. Do you understand?”

Itachi’s breath came in short gasps, frantic and nervous. “Yes.”

“And from this day forward, you will always refer to me as Sir. You may also call me Master, if you like. If you call me by any other name, you will be punished severely. Do you understand?”

He swallowed. “Yes, Sir,” he responded automatically, a reaction born of years of training and subordinacy, though it was a sentiment that had been buried deeply for a long time now.

Shisui smirked, pleased. “Very good. Now. Drop. Your. _Sword_.” The katana fell to the floorboards. He removed his hands from Itachi’s face and gave his cheek a light slap. Itachi’s eyes closed automatically. “Open your eyes,” Shisui demanded. Itachi did. “You are never to activate your Sharingan without permission,” Shisui told him, his own doujutsu burning brightly.

It hardly seemed fair, but… he deactivated it. There was a moment of unbearable stress, his body shaking with nerves. He was laid bare by Shisui’s red stare, unprotected, vulnerable. “Are you afraid?” Shisui asked, his voice a tentative touch, less commanding now, more like the Shisui that Itachi knew.

He was relaxed by it at once, and released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Yes,” he admitted, relieved to have been able to say it.

“Why?” Shisui asked curiously. He planted each of his hands upon the wall to either side of Itachi’s head, caging him within the lines defined by his body.

For reasons still unknown to Itachi, that simple act made him feel better. It reminded him of the time that he’d unleashed all of his concerns and Shisui had held him. “I don’t know what you’re doing,” he whispered uncertainly, remaining carefully still, unwilling to look away. His heart thundered on within his chest, terrified and ensorcelled, both.

Shisui was quiet for a moment. Itachi watched his every move, eyes trained on his face, darting from face to hands to lower, keenly aware of the situation. Shisui had him pinned. More accurately, Shisui was naked and had him pinned against a wall. This was never supposed to happen, and yet… he’d never felt more thrilled, enlivened by an electric force that sizzled across every nerve ending, exciting every sense. As he watched his cousin watching him, the Sharingan bled back to black, undiluted fury relinquishing its hold on madness and gentling, and then, his elbows collapsed, and Shisui stepped in, and Itachi shrank back further against the wall as Shisui’s lips met his.

An explosion of sensations assailed him then. His entire body tingled with sparks of life and excitement, burning him from within. His heart raced, threatened to break right out of his chest, wild and running, or dancing, or he wasn’t sure what, only that it clearly approved. His mind flat-lined and became completely, blessedly blank, nothing occupying his thoughts but the strangely pleasant feeling of Shisui’s lips—sinfully soft, surprisingly gentle—against his own. After that first, tense shock wore off, Itachi felt his entire body relax, muscle by muscle, a sense of perfect calm born of nowhere, Shisui’s hands tangling into his hair.

And then, all too soon, it was over. Shisui’s lips retreated, though he remained close enough that Itachi could feel the air of his breath tickling his lips. He dared not open his eyes, lest he wake up from the dream. The moment had the sense of gravity that accompanied a moment that one only got to experience once, and Itachi wasn’t about to let go of it that easily. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Shisui said to his lips. It sounded as if he was smiling. They sighed as one, breath into breath. Finally, Itachi’s eyes opened, seeing nothing but the black pools of Shisui’s eyes, willingly drowning. “Before this goes any further, Itachi,” Shisui said to him, the naked nature of his name sounding like a caress, reaching into tender places and settling comfortably, “was that okay?”

Itachi blinked, wondering what he was talking about. _Was what okay?_ He racked his brain, struggling to provide an answer, but his synapses had apparently dissolved and he could not form a single cogent thought. Shisui rolled his eyes and grinned sheepishly. “You really are clueless aren’t you?” he admonished fondly. “Let me rephrase it then. May I kiss you again?”

That voice, mocking and affectionate. It had tormented him time and again, but in the darkness there, it tantalized. “Yes.” He remembered it a moment late, but added it anyway. “…Sir.”

Shisui’s sinful lips curled, a slice of wickedness. “Good boy,” he congratulated, his voice thick with huskiness. He sighed, and Itachi shut his eyes, surrendering to whatever befell him in that dark, spellbound space. “Not tonight, though, I think.”

The words severed the dream, unwelcome. Itachi suppressed a groan of disappointment. He had only started to look forward to this, whatever this was, and just like that was denied. “From this day on,” Shisui explained, “you are mine. None may touch you except for me. Not even you,” he warned. “If you disobey me, you will be punished.”

 _Punished_. The word slithered into his ears and through his consciousness, making him shiver. It carried with it all manners of mischief, slick with pain and pulsing with danger. The word brought as much wild apprehension as it did tentative excitement, and Shisui picked up on it, claiming that as his own, too. “Oh yes, we will both enjoy your punishments, but they will vary in severity depending on how badly you displease me.” He frowned, his brows drawn down somberly. “I look forward to disciplining you, Itachi, but it does not bring me pleasure to punish you out of hand. You will want to please me. You need what I can give you as badly as I need to give it to you.”

Itachi’s eyes closed, internalizing those words. He felt the memory of Shisui’s lips, remembered all the times Shisui had pinned him, though now he remembered it differently, and for good reason. He realized that Shisui had been gently preparing him for this moment all along, giving him just enough to make him want without giving him enough to frighten or as to be inappropriate. “You’ve planned this all along,” Itachi voiced, tipping his head back against the wall. He wasn’t sure if the thought upset him or pleased him more.

“Yes,” Shisui told him, tugging the boy to his chest, cradling his head like a precious thing. Shisui’s chest was warm, pressed against his face. Itachi tuned into the steady thrum of his heartbeat, strong and comforting, a constant reminder that he was there, alive and powerful. “I’ve been watching you for a very long time, Itachi. You’ve been alone, and hurting. I will be good to you. I will give you the guidance that you desperately need to be as truly magnificent as you were intended to be. I will love you, and protect you, and through discipline and training you will grow stronger than you ever have before,” he ended reverently. “You have no idea how great you will be,” he finished on a whisper, kissing the top of his head.

Itachi’s mind was numb, processing new information as quickly as he dared. It was a lot to take in, and the nature of this affiliation challenged traditions in a myriad different ways. He had derived from guarded conversations with Kakashi that sexual intimation would be required of him when he reached a certain age in ANBU, though he had strongly hinted, too, that even at thirteen, such a mission might come up where his age was a boon instead of a hindrance. Itachi had thought about such expectations, and had detached himself from it as surely as the other horrible things that he would have to do. _I will be violated,_ he told himself. _But it will be no different from the violations that I visit upon myself with every murder._ Nightmares and defilements were the tools of his trade, and sexual manipulation was only one. He had guessed, too, that it would not even be the worst of the things he would be expected to do. He had actually considered seeking training in this area, though he was unsure whom to ask.

That brought him to another point. It was typically believed that a sexual relationship between two men was sinful and wrong. With a catch in his throat, he thought of his family and how they might see such a thing. He could guess. Fugaku would be the embodiment of disappointment and judgment. His mother would love him anyway. His brother probably wouldn’t even know what that meant until he got older, and by then wouldn’t know any other way. It was probably just as likely that his family would not wish to be associated with him anymore. This train of thought would need more consideration. He hadn’t even entertained the possibility a mere hour ago, after all.

He listened to the steady thud thud of the heart that was stroking his ear. _I will love you and protect you… stronger than you have ever been before… you are mine._ There had been one other time when he’d had his face pressed against Shisui’s chest, his arms curled protectively around his shoulders. He’d nearly fallen asleep then, and thought about doing so now. Something about the overwhelming presence of this man, something about the lurking mysteries that he dare not breach, about his untouchable confidence and unbreakable talent…

Shisui had been ‘Master’ before he’d ever dared to take it this far. With a smile of pride, Itachi realized that that must have been what this whole game had been about from the beginning. Shisui had been grooming him to pay attention, to aim for his approval, to see him as a superior, to heed his every word, crave his encouragement. Every thought he had about consequences suddenly fled at the revelation. He’d belonged to Shisui already for nearly as long as they’d been spying on one another. Tentatively, testing, he wrapped his arm around Shisui’s middle, inhaling his scent, basking in the warmth that radiated from his body.

Shisui hummed with approval, stroking his hair, trapping his head with the sharp angle of his chin. “Good boy,” he murmured.

The praise felt good, and it stirred something within him. How else could he earn that praise? What more did he have to do to drag the affection and fondness from the wonderful man who held him? Itachi snuggled even closer, trying to lose himself in the aura of potency that Shisui exuded, to wrap up in that warmth and allure, whatever he needed to do to keep feeling that good about it, until Shisui’s iron grip on his shoulders pulled him away. The thumbs pressed so hard into the meat of his muscle that Itachi hissed with pain, but more distressing yet was the denial of contact. What had he done wrong?

“Don’t be a brat,” Shisui growled, rendering Itachi immediately sorry. “You’re not ready for this, not yet.”

Itachi’s mouth opened, to deny that, to tell Shisui that he’d already resigned to delivering his body to enemies. The prospect of letting Shisui have the first crack at it was… exhilarating, actually. From everything that he knew of Shisui, the older ninja would visit all of the world’s most wondrous talents upon him, which was more than he could expect from the heartless mission objectives he had previously had to look forward to.

Shisui’s firm hands rooted him to that spot, bade him to “stay” in a voice that promised swift discipline and a fountain of regret.

But Itachi didn’t want to stay. He wanted to drink more of that delicious, forbidden potion, and he saw no reason not to. He wasn’t Shisui, but he had his own level of power as well, and ANBU had trained that aspect of his skillset to deadly precision. Itachi’s eyes locked onto Shisui’s, tried to press that same kind of smoky, swirling seduction that lurked in Shisui. He took a step forward, into that space that he’d been expressly told not to cross, chin lifting in defiance. _I am Shinobi, too,_ he thought, wearing the words like armor. _And I will only be controlled when I wish it._

That first tentative step threw Shisui’s eyes wide open. He drew himself up to his full height, exerting his will against Itachi’s. Power radiated from his body like the bleed of chakra, worming its way into Itachi’s skin, commanding him to stop. This, Itachi ignored; it was hardly the first time he’d had to fight adversity for mission success.

That second step sizzled with energy, heating between them. Itachi didn’t feel thirteen anymore. He felt older, far older, aging decades just for touching even a fraction of the influence that Shisui could exert. He knew who he was now, and where he belonged, and he felt so sublimely content to know he’d found something amazing. Most people didn’t experience that in a lifetime, forever condemned to walk the world alone or together-yet-separate, searching for the things that made them whole. Itachi pitied them, even though Shisui’s eyes narrowed dangerously, the final warning. One more step, and Itachi’s life was forfeit.

Itachi’s life had already been forfeit. Nothing to lose.

The third step never happened. Shisui collided into him, jerked his legs up to entwine around his waist, crashed his back against the wall, knocked all the wind out of Itachi’s lungs and into Shisui’s mouth. Shisui’s hand wrapped around Itachi’s vulnerable throat, pressing him hard against the wall beyond. Itachi’s body jolted all over with a shot of desire, unlooked for and unexpected, body bowing against the wall, grinding hips together born of reflex alone. His eyes widened at the strange epiphany, barely centimeters from the blown out pupils of Shisui’s dark eyes, rolling back into his own skull a moment later as Shisui’s vice like grip pressed his chin up higher, painful yet sweet. Itachi waited for the attention that never came, feeling the wild, yammering pulse of his neck, exposed and vulnerable. Shisui’s face tipped forward. The blinking of his lashes against Itachi’s neck caused twinges and shivers. The heavy, exhaled sigh caused his gut to tighten, his ankles locking around Shisui’s naked waist, pulling Shisui and his newly hardened erection tight to his groin.

And Itachi surrendered. Completely. His throat was bare, an animal signal that testified for his complete submission and trust, a faith that the other would not rip it out. His groin was painfully stiff, awakened to new sensations and an ache that would not go away. It all came down to a trust that transcended logic. Shisui would not hurt him. Shisui had had more than enough time and information and copious deadly talents that if he had wanted to, he could have murdered Itachi easily. He hadn’t, had instead risked it all on the uneasy affections of his thirteen-year-old cousin. He’d chosen Itachi over his career as a Shinobi, placed Itachi’s well being above his own, whether because he had the confidence to know that he could defend himself or the suspicion that Itachi couldn’t remained to be seen.

Still propped against Itachi’s shoulder, Shisui breathed, calming down finally. “Gods,” he breathed. “And you said that I was beautiful. You really have no idea, do you?”

“Shisui,” Itachi breathed.

His hand tightened on Itachi’s throat, little blurred spots of light dancing into his vision, pretty and fascinating, pounding in his temples and making him giddy. “Not allowed to call me that,” Shisui ordered.

He swallowed, dreading that tragedy. He wanted to be able to say Shisui’s name, needed to taste that whisper on his tongue. Shisui’s name was meant to be breathed, susurrated, soft syllables meant for quiet utterances. How many ways could he say that name? “Never?” he peeped, the denial of such a thing laden with sorrow.

Shisui picked his head up, ensnaring Itachi at the eyes. Itachi’s heart gobbled up that look like a starving man, for in it was an impossible concentration of love and adoration, and it literally took Itachi’s breath away. “When you’re especially good, I will let you call me by my name,” Shisui explained, his fingers hooking under Itachi’s thighs. Itachi tried to resist as Shisui peeled them apart. “Now,” he began, the heat in his voice carefully banked, controlled and even, “you are not ready.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Itachi protested, troubled by the turn their interaction had taken. “I’m ANBU.”

“You’re thirteen,” Shisui deadpanned, guiding Itachi’s feet to the floor. “You could be the Hokage and you’d still be thirteen.” Itachi’s heart sank. “You’re pouting,” Shisui laughed. “Cute.”


	6. The Better Self

* * *

_“It is not the fear of moving on that scares me; it is the fear of never going back. They never told us just how much it would cost to choose in life. They never told us that even though you can move on from certain things it may in turn cost you your heart. These decisions we face may turn us into either saints or monsters, but it has to be worth more than becoming nothing at all” –Mary Kate Teske_

* * *

 

“What about the coup d’etat?” Itachi asked, sheathing the sword and leaning back against that wall. He didn’t trust his legs.

Shisui glanced quickly over his shoulder. Itachi had forgotten that there was someone else in the room. The woman that Shisui had been sleeping with. Remembering that she was there made Itachi _very_ jealous. Shisui smirked, sensing his distress, but he didn’t bring up that topic. “I will take care of everything.”

Itachi frowned. “What will you do?” he asked.

Shisui's look pinned him still. “Something that you will learn about me if I have to beat it into you,” Shisui explained, “is that I always keep my word. Keeping my promises is why I never fail. And in this, my adorable little cousin, I can promise you several things. One, there will be no coup d’etat. Two, there will never be an Uchiha stronger than me, you included. Three, anyone that tries to hurt you will die screaming. Four… I _am_ going to fuck you someday. And five… you will be begging for me when I do.” Itachi nearly collapsed for all the force of those words. “When you aren’t thirteen,” he finished with an anguished sigh. “Gods, why are you so young?” he whispered for his own benefit. “I’m going straight to the special hell.”

“I’ll go with you,” Itachi offered. This level of blind devotion was new to him, but he found that it suited him well. He’d been waiting for there to be someone worthy of his dedication and skill. Itachi’s singular gifts were wasted on the likes of ANBU and the mediocre captains that it employed. They were strong and useful, definitely in the top ten percent of Shinobi with capability, but Itachi was a man apart even amongst them. Shisui, though… Shisui was danger incarnate, all things Shinobi, contained in one painfully beautiful package. He was violence, and he was seduction, and he was _presence_. Shisui inspired and terrified, teased and commanded, caressed and controlled. Whatever happened from this day forward, Shisui would not get rid of Itachi, not unless Shisui bade him to go.

Itachi’s heart fractured, just a little, just to think of it. _Don’t ever send me from your side,_ he silently pleaded.

Shisui’s smile disarmed him. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind,” Shisui told him honestly. Itachi wondered with a lilting heart whether it would be like this from now on, candid and lighthearted. Coming here tonight had been ill-advised, but he had been glad that he had done it, too. An invisible line had been crossed that could not be uncrossed. Everything from here was forward into uncharted territory, but the secrets between them had ended. “I’ll stop this coup d’etat,” Shisui repeated. “And you, Itachi, will simply have to believe in your master.”

Itachi nodded, an awareness blanketing his shoulders that banished the solitude. He wasn’t alone anymore. Shisui would lead, Itachi would follow. They would go forward as a team, stronger together than they’d ever been apart. “Yes, Sir,” he said with a smile. Still, though… “May I ask one question, Sir?”

“You may,” Shisui allowed.

“When will the lessons continue?” he asked, relishing the ghosts of his fingers pressed into his neck, the still-ebbing pain of desire unfulfilled, and the worm in his gut— _I_ am _going to fuck you someday_ , he’d said. The thought was scary… but exciting.

The curve of his lips relaxed, fell into the curve of devotion, rife with feeling. Itachi’s heart soared, for it meant that Shisui was pleased. He loved that. “How about sixteen?”

 _Three years._ It sounded like an awfully long time, too long to wait.

“You’re pouting again. You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No. Sir.”

“You really should pay more attention to how adorable you are. Simple things like that, your pouting and petulance, are coercive.”

Itachi’s lips quirked in his own grin, sensing the manipulative power of a tool that he could use.

Shisui’s eyes widened slightly. “I know what you’re thinking. You’ll be the death of me, I’m sure of it.” He sighed again, sounding even more pained and tortured than before. “Sixteen. Your birthday. We’ll revisit this.”

“And what now?” Itachi pressed, hungry for information.

His features slackened, growing sober with the weight of responsibility. “Now, I’m going to save the world. What about you?”

He had had no thought for himself, but he realized that there was an unaddressed problem in the room. Namely, that Shisui was not dead. “You can stop the coup?”

“I can stop the coup.”

“Then I will think of something.”

“Good. Now I think you should go home, before Nanami wakes up.”

 _Nanami_. She had a name.

“Don’t look at me like that, Itachi. You’re the one who stormed in here ready for a war. I keep my personal life at home where it belongs. If you’d have let me do things my way, you would never have even known she existed, and then it would be you and me until the end of the world.”

The words, so casually uttered, though they meant so much. They held the weight of finality _. Until the end of the world._ “I see.”

His eyes were filled with compassion, liquid and apologetic. “You’re the only person in the whole world who means anything to me Itachi. Don’t forget that.”

He nodded weakly, stunned by the force of the words and the feeling behind them. His mind was still paralyzed to blankness the whole way home, yanked into a world he still didn’t fully understand. His heart was still pounding with every fragment of memory of what had transpired. He’d been kissed by Shisui, coaxed into a fierce desire that threatened to overwhelm any hold he could have retained on his sanity. Logic screamed at him, told him that there was nothing about what he’d done just now that made any sense. Loving Shisui was wrong, and Shisui’s attraction to him even more so. Itachi had always believed in logic.

But his heart was still pounding. And though logic would dictate that Itachi stay far, far away from Uchiha Shisui and the iniquitous promises in his lovely eyes, the only thoughts that did seem clear on that walk home was that he wanted to know how that scene that they had acted out would have ended. It’d felt… good. Right. Comfortable. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be wrapped around his cousin’s waist, strangled to the wall and completely at his mercy.

He wanted to do it again.

Fugaku was still up, captured in the motion of cookie to mouth, snatching up sweets in the middle of the night. That explained why the argument from earlier in the day had been so rife with exclamations; Mikoto had assumed that Sasuke was eating more than his share of cookies, and of course Sasuke, being clever, knew that Itachi had a thing for sweets. What none of them knew, beyond all range of comprehension, was that Itachi’s penchant for sweets had come directly from his father. Fugaku looked up when he entered, cookie held between his lips as he used his hands to replace the lid on the jar. The corners of his lips turned upward into the characteristic Uchiha smirk, none having mastered it as well as Itachi’s father. Finally, with the cookie vanquished, Fugaku breached the topic. “What happened?”

“Shisui is innocent.” Shisui? Innocent? Itachi had to remind himself not to laugh, but the thought as to _why_ Shisui was not innocent would have made him blush otherwise.

“To your neck,” Fugaku further elaborated.

Itachi’s face went cold, a shiver traveling up his spine. He hadn’t thought about that. Images flashed through his mind, remembering the origin of the bruises on his neck. _Composure. Composure. Composure_. “We… talked,” he managed. “And fought. A little.”

Fugaku’s expression twisted oddly, trying to decipher exactly what had happened from Itachi’s vague explanation. “Alright, then what are the meetings about?”

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t actually gotten around to asking that.

He blinked. “You went all the way there, fought with Shisui, and returned without information?”

 _Not exactly._ Itachi had actually learned quite a lot while he was at Shisui’s. “Shisui acts in the best interest of the clan,” Itachi offered stubbornly. Then, he added, “And everything else I learned is ANBU business.” There, a tourniquet on the wound of information.

Fugaku scowled.

Something about the look on his face struck a chord. “Father,” Itachi began, feeling an uncharacteristic streak of idiotic bravery that was probably ill-advised. “This coup must not happen.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did Shisui say that?” Fugaku asked. As he waited for Itachi’s explanation, he grabbed himself another cookie. They regarded each other from across the kitchen, Fugaku leaning against the counter, Itachi tipped back on his elbows at the kitchen sink.

Itachi closed his eyes, feeling the effects of Shisui’s strength holding him strong, supporting him. It was an important distinction, though, to realize that, though it was Shisui who gave him strength, the words that Itachi spoke were his own. Itachi felt… different, somehow. Better, as if a barrier on the best of him had finally been broken down and let the real Itachi walk free. Suddenly it all made perfect sense. That was why he’d felt apart, why he had felt superior for so long. He did not need to obey his father anymore. He didn’t need to be a part of this political machination. Actually, that wasn’t quite right. No one was better suited than he was to put a stop to it. He was the most objective in all of this, the most devoted to both causes. A brilliant spark of clarity rooted. “No. I say this.”

“Why?”

“The way to end hatred is not to act upon hatred with more hatred,” he answered calmly. “If we do this, the other nations will attack Konoha while we are weak. At the end of it all, we might all be dead. I care not much for myself,” Itachi revealed. “My life already belongs to Konoha. It is for Sasuke and the other children of the Leaf that I believe this is correct. In doing this, we might all be killed; you, me, oka-san, Shisui, Yashiro and the police force, the Hokage. Who will be left, when we are gone? Sasuke? His friends? Children, mostly, to inherit a world that is no longer safe. Will you risk your family for the sake of your pride? Will you lead us toward breaking apart the Village, only to leave it for others to clean up once we’re gone?”

Fugaku internalized the words. He bit into the cookie, eyes focusing on a distant point as he mulled it over. “You make valid arguments,” he allowed after a time, surprising Itachi. “Thoughts I’ve had myself at one point. Though I fear it may be too late for that. The elders seem to have gotten wind of what we’re up to. Even if we don’t strike, the order could come any day to kill us all. Then what?”

The elders knew because of what Itachi had told them. It was too late to take those words, back, too. “If you can but stall the Uchiha for as long as possible, there might be something that I can do.”

“Itachi... If you fail, we’re all dead anyway.”

“I know.”

“If you succeed…” the unfinished sentence hung between them, ripe with incomplete promises, a future without strife. It was woefully uncertain.

“I will not fail.”

Fugaku smiled. _Actually_ smiled. “Proud of you, Itachi.”

Fugaku had said those same words countless times before, but the tone of them this time was different. His father actually seemed different today. He seemed a little more tired than usual, but receptive and candid. As if he saw Itachi as an equal, instead of just as his son and pet. Itachi needed to know… “Why?”

The smile became rueful. “It’s been a long time since you had the nerve to defy me.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, either. Defying his father was one of the first personality traits he had had to suppress. The moment he had become a shinobi, defying his father was as good as breaking the law, and he’d had to suppress every opinion or sentiment he had ever had around the man. “I have always done what was expected of me,” he responded evenly.

Fugaku nodded. “Yes, and I’m glad you have finally learned to do otherwise.”

He blinked, confused.

“A shinobi is more than his strength and his stealth and skill,” Fugaku lectured. “We are nothing without our passions and our ambitions. You are never really _you_ until you have something to fight for. Might as well be a fighting robot,” he added with a humorless laugh that was gone as soon as it came. “What are you fighting _for_ , Itachi?”

His first instinct was to say Shisui, but that was wrong. Shisui had somehow, against all manner of logic, become home. It was only his first instinct to say his cousin’s name because Shisui consumed his thoughts at that moment. That didn’t change the fact that he was fighting for… “Sasuke.”

Fugaku’s smile softened at the mention of his youngest son. “I’m glad that someone is, at least.” The air was saturated with regret.

“And you?” Itachi wondered aloud, taking advantage of his father’s unusually forthcoming mood.

He sighed, took another bite of his cookie. “This is the first time I’ll have admitted out loud that I’ve lost my way. We all have.” He chewed his cookie in silence, lost in thought, while Itachi marveled that his father had finally admitted his wrong. That was good; Itachi had worried that his father was abandoning wisdom. He was glad that Uchiha Fugaku was, at the very least, hearing him out. “I like your reasoning more than I like mine,” he said after a time. “I’ll delay the Uchiha. You do what you feel you must.”

Relief flooded. “Thank you, oto-san.” _And thank you, Shisui, for giving me the strength to oppose him._

“Do it fast.”

* * *

 

High above the Naka, Shisui waited, hands shoved into his pockets, lean body cutting a striking silhouette in the failing light. How had Itachi missed how beautiful he was before? Probably because he was too caught up in his own pain, his own struggles and missions, to notice the natural glory that was all around him. Itachi’s heart pounded just to see him there, memories of the night before imprinted upon his mind, his heart, and his skin. Shisui’s eyes raked over him once, came to rest on the bruises on his neck, smirked knowingly. “How did you explain that?” he asked.

“I told him we fought.” He smiled and looked away.

Shisui laughed. “Come here,” he crooned, beckoning him with one hand.

Silently, Itachi thanked him for giving him an easy command to fulfill, and Itachi went. Shisui kissed him upon the forehead and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. “I stopped the council,” Shisui murmured.

“I stopped my father,” Itachi confessed.

_We stopped the coup. Together._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only--ONLY--story I've ever done that I broke canon to accomplish. That's a really big deal for me. As I wrote on my profile, congratulate Itachi and Shisui for breaking my obsession with canon-compliance. ^_^ 
> 
> I couldn't put them together otherwise (actually, I probably could... I've played with the idea of Shisui still being alive out there somewhere before). 
> 
> I will probably keep this as my only breach in canon. It makes their bond more special to me. The only love so powerful that it transcends the bonds of canon. :-D


	7. Stronger at the Cracks

* * *

_“Within you I lose myself and without you I find myself wanting to be lost again.”_

* * *

 

Shisui’s smirk was so beautiful that it hurt. Itachi had long ago stopped wondering why that was, but there he was. Itachi frowned, taking in the too-familiar attire: black fatigues, grey flakk vest, steel vambraces, the standard issue katana, the animal mask that was affixed uselessly to the back of Shisui’s head. It looked more natural on Shisui than it ever had on Itachi. He bit his tongue on all the stupid questions. Shisui would disapprove of him asking silly questions, and that was not allowed. _Obviously_ , Shisui had joined ANBU. _Obviously_ , that made him part of Itachi’s team today. Instead, Itachi went with affectionate teasing. That was something  Shisui encouraged. “You’re crazy.”

Shisui’s grin was wild and contagious. “I have a few more promises to keep,” he divulged with a shrug. “I stopped the coup. I’m _still_ stronger than you…”

He trailed off, letting Itachi’s imagination remember the other three promises that Shisui had made that day. _Anyone who tries to hurt you will die screaming. And four…_ Itachi’s eyes glazed over, remembering, his pulse quickening just at the thought.

_Five… gods._

“I see you do remember,” Shisui teased.

 _Oh yes_ , he remembered. Memories of Shisui’s hands, the sharp lines of his bones and muscles, the irrefutable power of those eyes, and the authority of his voice when he decided to use it on Itachi to exact compliance haunted Itachi’s dreams. The dreams were bad enough, but Shisui had also forbidden him from touching himself, which had made mornings, and sometimes the middle of the night, extraordinarily uncomfortable. There were times when he considered breaking _that_ particular rule, and almost had a number of times. If he did that, though, he’d feel compelled to tell Shisui, and then he’d have to endure the disappointment in Shisui’s eyes for disobedience.

It was a constant struggle, loving Shisui. There were times when he questioned whether or not it was worth it, simply on principle alone, doubting himself based on logic. Then, things would happen, like Shisui subjecting himself to the danger and rigors of ANBU simply to protect him. That anyone would risk his life just to keep Itachi safe was an anomaly at all, but… there was a fierceness in Shisui’s eyes that did, in fact, promise swift and violent death to anyone that opposed him. When was it that Itachi had decided that he liked that in a person?

“I remember,” Itachi assured him, sounding calmer than he felt. With Shisui in ANBU, and likely always on his team, the nature of their relationship was bound to change. For one thing, Itachi would be around him much more than he ever had before. Those smoldering smiles and the dangerous promises hiding in his eyes would torment Itachi. He would be forbidden to touch his master on any of their missions. He would have to obey without being found out. Hiding the nature of their association without being obvious was going to be a real challenge. He wondered if Shisui had thought about that before he’d signed on.

One glance at Shisui and the undiluted mischief that resided there, and Itachi was assured that his lover was counting on it. A situation that would be made more difficult by the secrets they shared was Shisui’s favorite game.

 _Still, it will be nice to spend some time with him,_ he reflected as Shisui’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, gently guiding him down the path that would take them to their mission. He was glad that Shisui would be there with him. ANBU was a rough job for Itachi, and it was difficult enough to speak about the foul deeds he was forced to do. With Shisui there, he wouldn’t ever have to give those things a voice. Shisui would know, and Shisui would understand. The complex nature of Shisui’s eyes confirmed that he had thought of this, too. Soon, Itachi told himself, he would learn that Shisui thought of everything so that Itachi didn’t have to. He sighed, filled up inside with gratitude and contentment. It was nice not to feel alone anymore.

As if he had sensed the full nature of Itachi’s meandering thoughts, Shisui leaned close to his ear, grazing the lobe with a quick kiss and the gentle sound of his voice as he said, “Don’t worry so much. No one can kill me, and I won’t let anything happen to you. We’re going to be fine. Trust me.” He gave Itachi’s shoulder a quick squeeze and released him.

Itachi believed him. The tension in his neck and shoulders lessened, if only a little bit. “I trust you,” Itachi assured him. He laughed a moment later. “Though gods help me, I have no idea why.”

Shisui laughed, too. “Because I want you to live to see sixteen more than you do.” It was meant to be lighthearted, but the tone in his voice was layered with something predatory, too.

“Waiting was your idea,” Itachi reminded him unhappily.

“If you were me, you’d do it, too,” Shisui grumbled with an equal amount of displeasure. “There are some things in the world that aren’t okay.”

Itachi frowned and retreated. The realm of ‘things in the world that aren’t okay’ was a major part of his career. There might come a time any day now when Itachi would be expected to be a sexual object as part of a mission objective. Why couldn’t Shisui see that? By denying him, he might also be denying Itachi the experience he would need to survive it, logically. And so, because it was bothering him, he voiced it. “They could make me do this in ANBU at any time. Do you really want to let someone else touch me first?”

Shisui’s eyes squeezed shut. He stopped walking, his fists balling at his sides. “You really aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?” Shisui growled with frustration, launching into a monologue. “Bad enough I’m in love with my cousin. No, let it be the cousin that’s not even of legal age of consent yet. You know, the really sexy one who’s nearly as dangerous and brilliant as you. If that weren’t bad enough, make him extra eager and extra innocent.”

Itachi stopped walking. “I’m _not_ innocent,” he insisted.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “ _That_ was the one thing you pulled out of that?”

“I want you,” Itachi stated flatly, the words floating between them like a prayer.

Shisui bit his lip and shook his head once, a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl lodging in his throat. “Itachi, you’re fucking killing me.”

Itachi watched Shisui’s internal battle with interest, observing, learning. There were things that he could do, things that he could say, that riled Shisui. Properly employed, such acts were manipulative tools that he could use to his advantage. He sensed, though, that his cousin was at his limit. He could push him, if he chose. One good shove, one carefully placed word, and Shisui’s control would snap. He considered it; the consequence of Shisui’s loss of control was his favorite subject of thought. He allowed the moment to stretch, shoulders tense and shivering with the power he held over Shisui, realizing then that Shisui’s power was merely the darker side of his own. It was a delicate and elegant struggle, a war for dominance. In this, Shisui would seek to exert control over Itachi. Conversely, though, Itachi could suggest, coerce, and lure, _testing_ that control.

However, it was Shisui's extraordinary control that Itachi admired. If Itachi pushed him past his breaking point, Shisui might see it as his own failure. That, Itachi would not allow, even if it did temporarily result in the effect that he was after. The satisfaction would be fleeting, soured by the consequences. It was incredibly important to him on a personal level that Shisui should never fall, even more so than himself. He could test Shisui’s control, and should, but never push him beyond that fragile boundary, or their merry game was lost. “I’m sorry,” Itachi apologized, bowing at the waist. “I should not have pushed you.”

He heard the wind of a heavy sigh. “Get away with it while you can,” he warned. “You won’t find me so forgiving in the future.”

Itachi grinned. “Does that mean—“

“No,” he slashed with the crack of supremacy. Argument over.

He didn’t fully appreciate the severity of his infraction until he tried to talk to Shisui again. He’d merely asked how Shisui’s weekend had gone, trying to make conversation as they went to meet the rest of their team. Shisui’s gaze slid sideways, glaring balefully at Itachi, sporting a wounded, agonized look. Being regarded that way stung, and he actually stumbled a bit, losing his footing for the shock he felt at being sidelined so easily. “Shi—“

He choked on the name before it ever left his lips, frozen by Shisui’s very sudden and _very_ wrathful scowl. He clamped his lips shut, distressed. Two fuck-ups in rapid succession. Not a winning score for the day. Heart pounding, not wanting to end on a failure, he tried again. “Sir,” he beseeched. Shisui ignored him. “ _Sir_ ,” he repeated desperately. Despair clawed at his heart. _Don’t shut me out. Please, no, anything but that._ “Will you talk to me, please?”

Shisui’s face tilted over, eyebrows creased with regret. Itachi immediately understood. He was being punished. It might not have happened with corporeal discipline or, perhaps, the type of punishment that Shisui had originally envisioned, but it cut even more deeply in some ways. The connection he had with Shisui was as much a part of him as his chakra, engraved upon his heart and streaming through his veins. To be denied that was like breathing glass, every passing moment worse than the last, threatening to strangle him. “Please don’t do this,” Itachi pleaded, grasping at whichever straws he could reach. He dropped to his knees, the pain of the shock of the earth balancing him momentarily, reminding him that every wrong had a price, and that he was paying his. He had to try, though. “Sir, please forgive me,” he begged, the tears welling up in his eyes.

Though Itachi had stopped, Shisui’s walk continued, his steps growing quieter as Itachi wept into the ground, possessed of a need for acknowledgment, of praise. He wouldn’t really leave Itachi behind, would he? Still, though, he knew of no other way to apologize, so he remained. The dust collected in his hair and his face grew muddy with tears, but he stayed pressed to the dirt until his back ached, diving into the black ache in his heart, embracing the agony of his mistake. He deserved this. He knew the rules and he’d broken them. He’d antagonized his master beyond where he knew that he should and had dared to try to call him by his name. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the earth. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a prayer, glued to the dirt. It was here that he had failed, and here he would stay until the world righted itself, else he should die of shame.

And then, like a miracle, he felt Shisui’s cool fingers on the back of his neck. “Itachi,” he said, his voice as clear and beautiful as the element of his name. Itachi dared not move, his muscles trembling, too relieved that he’d returned and too scared that he might leave again. Until Shisui’s hand grasped him by the nape of the neck and gently guided his head away from the ground. Itachi sucked in a deep breath, his composure completely shattering, the tears flowing out of his eyes like a rainstorm, numb and still panicky as Shisui sat upon the ground with his feet spread apart, caging Itachi within his protective shell. “Come here, you,” he murmured, his voice like balm to Itachi’s breaking soul.

All the while Itachi sobbed out his apologies, Shisui explained. “There are rules for a reason, Itachi, and I expect you to follow them.” The tone of his voice was exceedingly gentle.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ he whispered, meaning it with every fiber of his being.

“I know that, Itachi. That’s why I’m here.” He pulled Itachi in tighter then, squeezing his shivering frame in the safety of his arms. Itachi’s fingers found purchase in the fabric of Shisui’s sleeves, holding on for dear life, wishing fervently that nothing like this ever happened again. He vowed then and there not to displease Sir, no matter what it took. Shisui held him until the shaking calmed down and the sobs stopped, shushing and stroking his hair while Itachi held on. “You’re all right,” he assured him. “I forgive you.” He planted a sweet, lingering kiss to the crown of his head. “Look at me.”

He didn’t want to. He still felt awful, and he didn’t want Shisui to see him cry. But Shisui didn’t force him to look this time. He just waited, trusting that Itachi would obey when he was ready. He was strengthened by his faith in him. And so, despite the horrible twist in his gut, he raised his eyes and met Shisui’s. The moment their eyes met, Shisui smiled, looking wonderful and radiant, his hair mussed for the mask that forced it upward roguishly, dark long lashes framing impossibly lovely eyes. “There he is. Welcome back.”

He allowed his fingers to travel along Itachi’s arms, starting at the shoulders and drawing slowly, lazily down to the elbows, making shivery tickling paths to Itachi’s wrists. The motion was comforting, encouraging, and it anchored Itachi back to his island of composure, so distracted by it was he from his pain. Then Shisui’s long, strong fingers wove in between Itachi’s, and together they stood, stronger than they were before.

Itachi felt newmade and solid by the time they met up with the other ANBU. He’d been through a psychologically challenging ordeal, intense for reasons that made sense only to Shisui and himself. He’d crossed his cousin, and he’d paid for it, but in the end he was forgiven and back in grace. It was a secret he shared only with Shisui, a true and vigorous test of love and loyalty, and he’d made it out the other side having been shattered and glued back together in a better way. A stronger way. He only wished that he could hold onto Shisui, a tactile reminder of the connection that they shared. Shisui smirked, catching his eye from the corner of his, as if he’d heard his thoughts. _This is our challenge, now,_ Itachi thought, dreading it. Physical contact would be denied in the presence of others. _But by the end of it, I’ll be even stronger._

They donned their masks.

The other two ANBU were stoic, humorless guys, as most ANBU were. Shisui, as was his way, was always an exception. The shorter of the two men, wearing a bear mask, held out a scroll, meaning for the two of them to read it. When his voice spoke, he really didn’t sound happy about it. “Which one of you is Fudo?”

“I am,” Itachi replied as Shisui took the scroll.

“You’re the star of the show,” the man with the bear mask answered.

Beside him, Itachi heard the violent crumple of paper and a distressed sigh. Itachi turned toward Shisui, their dark eyes even further shadowed by the darkness in their masks. It didn’t hide the naked concern, though, or the stark terror, either. None of them needed to say it, though the taller man with the owl mask did. “Seduction mission. I hate these things.”


	8. Honey Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to start giving you some of those tags...

* * *

_“We’re all in the same game; just different levels. Dealing with the same hell; just different devils.”_

* * *

 

“I’ll take next watch,” Itachi announced softly, standing and walking toward the edge of camp. He leapt to the top of the tree where Shisui perched, bathed in moonlight like a benevolent, watchful god.

Shisui glanced in his direction, just to acknowledge that he knew he was there, but he didn’t say anything. He was squatting on his heels on a branch that shouldn’t have been strong enough to hold him. His elbows perched on knees, hands dangling slack, staring out over the tree tops, red eyes shifting slowly, watching. Itachi didn’t interrupt his thoughts. He didn’t really need to. He could guess where Shisui’s mind wandered, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to say about it, either. Truth be told, Itachi felt more than uncomfortable, too.

Itachi dropped to a lower branch, allowing him just enough height to lay his face against Shisui’s leg, his fingers curling around his thigh. He inhaled deeply, finding comfort in Shisui’s scent. He could find the strength to do this, he was sure of it. As long as Shisui was there. Before, to be strong enough for both of them. And after, to piece him back together when he was broken.

After several minutes of silence, Shisui’s fingers fumbled for his in the darkness. “I’ve loved you my whole life,” Shisui confessed, his voice tight with emotional pain. “I’ve loved you so long that it hurts sometimes. I’ve watched you grow into a person who is truly remarkable in every way. You have a big heart, and _so much talent_ ,” he breathed, squeezing his fingers. “I didn’t understand why I was so obsessed, but I couldn’t look away. I wanted to be near you, but you never let anyone in. I figured if I tried to break through that, you’d only push me away, so I waited. I’ve watched you hurt too much already, accepting responsibilities way above your pay grade and internalizing shit that was too horrific. I vowed that someday, I would fight for you, so that you never had to handle it on your own again. _I_ could handle all of that darkness for you instead. When they ordered me to spy on you, I knew it was time. If I had left you on your own any longer, they would have crushed your spirit, caged you, broken you, destroyed you completely.”

His words moved Itachi. He'd had no idea Shisui felt that way about him at all. “I’m stronger than you must think,” he countered. “I can handle this.”

He went quiet again. Then he sighed. “… _I_ can’t.”

In those two words, Itachi’s world was floored. He pulled on Shisui’s fingers and brought them to his lips. “Believe in me,” he bade him. “The mission doesn’t call for anything as bad as all that. I only have to keep him distracted while the rest of you steal the evidence and release the prisoners. It should be fairly quick and painless.”

“You know as well as I do that the parameters of an ANBU mission can change dramatically in the blink of an eye. That’s why they put ANBU on them and not standard jounin. If _anything_ goes wrong, it could turn into a bloodbath.”

His tone suggested that he fully expected things to go wrong, and that he was planning to be the facilitator of that bloodbath. “I know,” Itachi replied calmly.

“I won’t be able to focus if I think you’re in danger.” His fingers squeezed too hard. 

“I’ve never failed,” Itachi reminded him consolingly. “Neither have you.”

“There’s a first time for everything. I’m not willing to let that be you.”

Itachi opted for humor and smiled against the skin of Shisui’s hand. “I’m willing to let that be you.”

“This isn’t funny,” he chastised.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, losing the smile. “Have faith in my abilities,” Itachi asked of him. “You give me strength. As long as I know that you’re safe, I’ll be just fine,” he assured him. “Isn’t that why you chose me in the first place?”

“Hn. Is that what you think?” His tone was wry.

“Am I wrong?”

Shisui chuckled. “You literally have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

“You keep saying that,” Itachi pointed out.

“'Cause it’s true. I’ve not been able to take my eyes off you. Not ever.”

“Why?” he wondered.

“Because no matter how fucked up the world gets around you, you have this gorgeous serenity about you, like a hope that never dies. You’re absolutely brilliant, a born genius. I want that, all for myself. And every time you look at me like I mean something, or like when you do what you’re doing right now, I’m so filled up with happiness that I feel like I might just die.” He sighed. “If something happens to you, Itachi, I’m going to go batshit. There’s a darkness in me that you don’t know yet. You’ve only seen the barest glimpses. If I could hide it from you forever, I would. If I showed it to you all at once you’d run away screaming. Yes, even you. Would run away. _Screaming_. People like me…”

“Are so wonderful it hurts,” Itachi finished for him.

He heard the rustle of clothing as Shisui’s face jerked in his direction, loosing a soft gasp of surprise. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“Itachi …” He loosed a breath of consternation, gathering his thoughts. “I like to … hurt people.”

“I know.”

“You don’t … _really_ know,” Shisui tried to explain, laughing nervously, pulling his hand away to run it through his mess of unruly curls.

“Sir, may I use your name?” Itachi asked, pressing the fingers of both hands into Shisui’s thigh and looking up at his face, shadowed by the starlight.

Itachi could just make out the curve of his lips tilting upward. “Sure, just this once.”

Itachi smiled, pleased. He was doing well today, all things considered. “Shisui.” He took his time saying it, savoring the moment. He had taken it entirely for granted before, how delectable that name felt on his tongue, smoothing syllables swirling around his breath. Gorgeous, every bit of it. “Your … darkness … calls to me. I’ve never felt more alive than when I’ve caught glimpses of it. My heart is pounding now, just to imagine it, see?” He pressed his fingers to his heart, begging him to test it.

“That’s _fear_ , Itachi. You just don’t remember what it feels like, is all,” he argued, ignoring the invitation.

“Shisui.”

“I said _once_.” His tone was bitter and closed off, slicing through Itachi’s attempt to soothe.

Itachi sensed the distance closing. He wasn’t going to have that. He grabbed Shisui by the ankle and jerked down as if he was pulling a bell. Shisui’s arms flew into the air to balance himself as he slid off the branch and onto Itachi’s between his body and the trunk. Itachi didn’t ask. He didn’t wait for Shisui to tell him what he could and could not do. Likely, he’d be punished for it. But he could see that Shisui was hurting, and he knew he had to do something, even if he’d need to apologize for it later. So he gripped Shisui by the straps on his vest and shoved him against the tree with the clank of crunched steel, black eyes blinking in the inky darkness, creased with concern and brimming with hurt. _I can show you,_ Itachi thought, willing Shisui to hear his thoughts, _how lovely to me you are, too._ He licked his lips and rested them tentatively against Shisui’s, just a careful touch, to ask permission. Shisui didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Didn’t tell him _no, don’t._ Braver now, he stepped closer, filling himself with all of the emotions he’d kept bottled up, channeling it through his lips. He liked the way they fit together, soft, tangling, testing the pressure between them. It was careful, at first, just a trial run, a gesture Itachi had used to show Shisui how he felt, that he loved him regardless, no matter how dark and scary Shisui thought he was.

But then, Shisui sighed, an audible, wistful sound that almost became a groan. Shisui’s arms wrapped around his back, pulling gently. As if Itachi had needed any encouragement. His hands dropped from the straps and snaked around Shisui’s back, finding hard, warm shoulders to grab onto. He pulled Shisui as close as he could, squeezing tightly, yielding control of his mouth as Shisui took control, invading with his tongue, claiming, consuming. The world winked out of existence, became a tangle of arms and lips and hair, spiraling, breathless and lost in each other.

“Everything all right?” a voice called from below. “We thought we heard something.”

They sprang apart so as to not get caught. Itachi caught Shisui’s smile in the ghostly light. “Close,” he breathed, panting.

“Yeah,” Itachi agreed, equally as out of breath.

“Everything’s fine!” Shisui called down, grinning like an idiot now, one hairsbreadth away from laughing his ass off.

It made Itachi feel fantastic, knowing he’d done that.

“Everything’s fine,” Shisui repeated with a lower volume, meant for him. “I’ll release the prisoners. You do what you have to do. But you get out of there safely, if you have to kill every motherfucker there to do it, you hear me?”

Itachi smiled, feeling better. That, he could do. “Not a problem, Sir.”

* * *

 

The evening had almost been too easy. Shisui, Bear, and Owl each went their separate ways; Shisui, to free the prisoners, Bear, to hunt down the documentation of the slaves purchased, damning evidence that could implicate the daimyo of the Land of Clay in a scheme of black market pleasure trading. Owl’s purpose in the whole thing was to gather intel on the military force of Clay in case retaliation occurred. Clay wasn’t a large land, but that didn’t mean that it should be underestimated. With his teammates gone, Itachi felt better. He had always been accustomed to working on his own, and he knew tonight's necessary skill set, even if he hadn’t had a whole lot of practice.

It was easy to spot the Clay Daimyo. He had a look about him of wealth and cruelty, dressed head to toe in silks and gold rings, a sly curve upon his lips as he surveyed the crowd of his weekly party, looking for his night’s conquest. Itachi’s job was to _be_ that conquest, to ensure that his attention was diverted as his comrades destroyed his empire. He was only supposed to keep the daimyo occupied, which would hopefully exclude any kind of sexual contact, though the mission details had said that Itachi was to do as much or as little as required until the signal was given to withdraw. _It doesn’t matter,_ he thought. _Tonight my body is a weapon like any other._ Although, he’d had little experience using it.

 _Damn you, Shisui._ Alone with his own thoughts, he could be as bratty as he wanted. Shisui’s honorable intentions had deprived him of the experience he needed to do this correctly.

He had elected to wear his hair loose, doing his best to be unrecognizable, and worn a plain set of civilian clothes to blend in. The mission details had said that the daimyo preferred to choose his prey from among the commoners, who would be less likely to rat him out or to be taken seriously. Itachi had a plain pair of khaki pants and a loose white shirt. They made him feel freakishly skinny and awkward as he sank into the plain wooden chair.

Oh well. Hopefully, they made him seem more out of place and vulnerable in a good way, dampening the natural shinobi grace he possessed. He was proven alarmingly correct when a shadow fell over him not an hour later, making his heart flutter a bit with nerves. Itachi had a great deal of experience being a shinobi, being an ANBU, and generally just being an elite in most respects, but he had had zero experience being someone’s lover, and the thought of having sex, particularly with a man--of which he had no idea how it was supposed to work--scared him. He hadn’t told that to Shisui, but that was because if Itachi ever felt fear, he chose to feel it at the last possible second, to get it done and over with and let it go.

Like now.

“You like parties?” the daimyo asked, smiling a deceptively friendly smile. _Predatory_.

“Well,” Itachi answered with a gentle shrug, biting his lip and looking away. “Not really.” _True_.

“No? Not even one like this? Did you try the pudding? I searched the world over for that recipe.” _Treats. Wealth._ Yes, this guy definitely knew his victims.

“It’s pretty loud in here, and I don’t know anybody.” _Also true._ Itachi had learned, as a spy: the more one could answer honestly, the easier it was to deceive. They couldn’t find lies in the truth unless they were fools—and fools were easily dealt with.

“It’s quieter just outside. And it’s firefly season.” _Escape. Beauty. Tempting._

Itachi smiled shyly, fidgeting in his chair. “I like fireflies.” _Truth_.

“Come on then.” He grabbed Itachi’s hand carefully, rubbing the pad of one thumb over the back of his palm. It was intended to comfort, and probably worked on most, but it alarmed Itachi and turned his stomach, made him aware that this man wasn’t in this for the fireflies.

He went. The daimyo led him outside. Then further, toward an oversized outbuilding. It held a plethora of rare collectibles, including some caged up monkeys, a massive amount of incense, and a pretty impressive set of rare, colorful silken rope. He didn’t like this, but the mission dictated that he keep the man distracted, so distracted was how he intended to keep it. “Ooo, monkeys!” he exclaimed childishly. He had never liked monkeys. Filthy creatures, really, but they gave him a focal point.

“Yes,” the daimyo cooed. “They’re from the Land of Whirlpools. That was destroyed some years ago, so these are the last of the monkeys that lived there.”

 _Poor beasts._ “That’s neat,” he proclaimed, stroking the bars of the cages, staring into the too-human and fearful eyes of the little primate. Its eyes scanned back and forth. “Can I pet one?”

“Not tonight. There’s something I want to show you.”

Itachi swallowed, terrified already. It would be easier just to kill this man and be done with it, but if he did that, their mission would be compromised. Shisui, Owl, and Bear had not had near enough time yet to accomplish their tasks. The daimyo had worked far too fast. Itachi had not been able to stall nearly enough. It seemed he had singular, malicious intent. “To… show me?” he croaked. He needed to keep stalling, lest he become responsible for mission failure. His record thus far was flawless. 

“Yes,” he said gently. “A surprise.” In his hand he held a black strip of fabric. “It’s just to cover your eyes. Wouldn’t be a surprise otherwise.” _Trust_.

“I don’t like surprises,” Itachi hedged. _True_.

“It will be _fun_.” _Tantalize_.

Itachi wanted to kill him, but if he gave it up now, they’d have to abandon the prisoners. It was just a blindfold; he could fight without the Sharingan. Better than half a dozen jounin, in fact. He knew that because he'd practiced it, just in case of moments like these. Itachi forced a smile onto his face and nodded, and the disgusting daimyo pig blindfolded his precious Sharingan. Panic set in immediately. He had never been in the presence of an actual enemy with his eyes covered before. What he was doing was extraordinarily dangerous. “Relax,” the daimyo bade him, sounding just as gentle as before, placing the gentlest of kisses upon his head. “You’re going to be just fine. I’ll go get the surprise now. Wait right here.”

Itachi heard his slow, deliberate footsteps walk away and leave him there. That was odd, and totally against mission protocol. He wasn't supposed to leave the daimyo's company. “Come back!” he called, forcing a laugh into his voice. “Don’t leave me here like this! What about my surprise?”

“Just a moment!” he called back from a short distance away.

 _Good_ , Itachi thought. _He’s still here._

Something heavy smacked into his head a moment later. He fell over, stunned and terrified, fingers shaking from the aftershocks, groaning from the blow. His hands were jerked roughly behind his back and tied tightly. Another set of hands tied his feet together. At least two assailants, then. A boot kicked him in the ribs, and he shouted in pain. Three, then. Itachi could barely move his fingers and toes, sick and dizzy. He wondered vaguely how hard he had been hit in the head. “Help!” he shouted, legitimately panicking. A hand covered his mouth and jerked his head back, stuffing a wad of fabric into his mouth, then wrapping more fabric several times around his head. He felt so helpless that the tears just started pouring. He couldn’t fight like this, and now the others wouldn’t know. They were merely supposed to give a signal, and then he would retreat. With his eyes covered and his hands and feet bound, he’d neither see the signal nor be available to heed it. He shrieked into his gag, wishing he could see, that someone could hear him, _whatever._

“Ahhh,” purred the daimyo. “I guess Konoha suspects something ... if they sent you to spy on me … Uchiha Itachi.”

Itachi’s heart skipped a beat as the daimyo began to laugh.


	9. Sharp Edges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: my betas tell me this is a tough scene. And to be fair, it was so tough to write I had to step away a few times and almost gave up on it. But the scene wanted to happen, so happen it did. 
> 
> \--Triggers triggers triggers--
> 
> So many ugly triggers ... how brave are you?
> 
> Onwards.

* * *

_“You will always be too much of something for someone: too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy. If you round out your edges, you lose your edge. Apologize for mistakes. Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone—profusely. But don’t apologize for being who you are.”_

* * *

 

Itachi felt the man’s vile paws upon him, poking, prodding, caressing. It sickened and scared him. His hand gripped Itachi’s chin, turning his face this way and that. “What an idiot. I can’t believe you let me bind your eyes.” He kissed Itachi’s face, and Itachi took the opportunity to hit him in the nose with a vicious headbutt. He heard the crunch of a satisfying connection, and the daimyo roared with ire. “You little _shit!_ ” he shouted. Then he laughed, fueled by his reaction. “Ooohhh I am _so_ going to enjoy this.”

Hands on either side of him gripped his shoulders and pushed him roughly to the ground. His nose was filled with dirt, and he choked, trying to breathe through the sand and the gag, sputtering, panicking for lack of oxygen. His heart was racing, beating a wild tattoo in his neck. Frantically, he considered activating the seal in his ANBU mark, obliterating his body and all of its evidence. He knew that he should… he was well and truly fucked now. The Sharingan was in enemy hands and he was helpless to escape. The mark could be activated with a thought, but…

 _Shisui_. He wanted to _live_. For him, Itachi must endure.

The daimyo sat upon him. Itachi could feel the heat from his groin against his back through the thin layers of clothing. He was so scared that he thought his heart would explode, and he sobbed continuously. _I’m sorry, Shisui,_ his mind whispered. _I’m sorry, so sorry, I failed you._ A knife cut away his shirt. A breeze ghosted across his shoulder blades. Then, a moment later, Itachi realized that the man had blown his ghastly breath across his skin and he nearly vomited, gag or no gag. His tongue followed a moment later, a fat, wet, heavy thing with no finesse, lapping at lovingly honed muscles, defiling his hard work. Itachi’s body bucked against his bonds and he screamed into the gag. _No, no, no!_ He thrashed with all of his might, wiggling, kicking, and giving it his all, but it was no use. All that he accomplished was further fatigue.

The daimyo laughed, his considerably heavier weight keeping Itachi effectively pinned down no matter his painstakingly practiced physical strength. He screamed and screamed and screamed, for the shame and futility of it all. Then, the man’s fingers traced lines down his bare spine, deliberately taking their time, taking advantage of Itachi’s expended energy, hooking into the waistband of his pants… and dragging them down. Itachi’s mind wandered, seeking a desolate plane of existence, one where he wasn’t aware of what was happening to him, even when the cheeks of his buttocks were spread apart and admired. He sobbed, praying for a miracle while the pig behind him cooed encouragement and told him to lie still like a good boy. His eyes rolled back behind the blindfold, and he thought he was about to faint as the tip of a penis started poking around at his anus.

There was a bloodcurdling animal scream, ululating with something wild, and a warm spray a moment later. Itachi supposed it was all the better for him that it was over already. It dawned on him a second later that the screaming hadn’t stopped, had in fact only increased in fervor and volume. Itachi managed to scrub his face against the ground enough to dislodge the blindfold, not daring to believe the impossible.

When he could see, he tilted his face up to watch Shunshin no Shisui perform the most dazzling dance Itachi had ever seen or would see since. Shisui was a blur of rage in the darkness, red eyes sizzling with the wrath of hell, glowing like a demon in the nighttime. His face was peeled back in a snarl, but that wasn’t the most frightening aspect of his face. Despite it all, despite the blood spattered on his face, decorating his armor in splashes across his breastplate, and the screams of the dying, Shisui _smiled_ , his smirk growing more sinister the longer he worked. He flashed from one victim to the next, slashing viciously with his katana, severing heads from torsos and hands from arms, reveling in the surprised braying of his victims for just a moment before putting them out of their misery with a violent strike to the gut.

Shisui was a _masterpiece_ on the battlefield. Itachi’s mouth fell open in awe. It was the most gruesome seven minutes of weaponry that Itachi had ever witnessed. All across the dark frontier before him spurted fountains of blood, shimmering black in the darkness. The sounds of steel on steel and steel thunking into flesh, the grunt of effort as Shisui jerked his sword, and the wet splash of innards spilling out upon the earth. The atmosphere was a disruptive cacophony of screams, war cries, and, though quieter, still more pronounced, the growls and snarls, grunts and sighs of Shisui as he did his work, spinning on the balls of his feet, backflipping, blurring from one place to another, leaping, slashing, the epitome of Death as he danced.

 _Magnificent_.

It was no wonder Shisui had never failed a mission, thought Itachi. Just then a whimper of pain caught his attention. He peered over at the blubbering, weeping form of the Clay daimyo. He was clutching the severed stumps of both ankles, watching Shisui dispatch his guards with ease, fearing for his own life. _Serves him right,_ Itachi thought.

Shisui stalked back into the building from the outside, dropping his Katana at the doorway and withdrawing his tanto instead. His grin was as ghastly as it was gorgeous, a horizontal spray of blood masking his eyes as if he were some kind of grisly superhero. Not an inch of his uniform was not painted with blood, dripping, leaving a trail of gore in his wake as he descended slowly upon the daimyo, playing with his food. The daimyo wailed, weeping, whispering, “Please, don’t kill me. Please, I’ll give you anything you want. Money, slaves, anything.”

Still Shisui advanced, lithe grace a thing of beauty as he neared the fat lord and his severed feet. “Anything?” Shisui asked, his voice hoarse and otherworldly, his lips curling into an even more sinister rictus. He squatted, relaxing on the balls of his feet, eyes innocently guileless as he peered at the daimyo from beneath his stern brow.

Itachi wondered if the man would sense the trap. Shisui radiated danger and pain. Better to beg for a quick death. “Anything,” he breathed, clasping his hands together as if in prayer.

“Turn over,” Shisui commanded icily, eyes glittering dangerously. Itachi recognized that commanding tone, but it was tinged with evil now, too. Itachi merely watched, transfixed, a spectator, mostly forgotten in Shisui’s war against everything.

The daimyo’s eyes widened, flickered between Shisui and Itachi as if he’d finally figured it out. He was stopped by Shisui’s sharp bark, deafening in the small space. _“YOU DO NOT LOOK AT HIM!”_ Shisui roared. Then, he added softly in a tone that could freeze blood, “You do not _ever_ look at him. He is _mine_.”

Itachi shivered. He knew what he was seeing was Shisui at his most terrifying. Shisui, fully embracing the dark storm that resided within him, letting all of his demons roar out of him at once, heedless of the consequences. Itachi knew he should be scared. Shinobi had cracked before, completely severing themselves from their wits, caused by certain traumatic experiences. Some of them never came back, and almost all of the victims of psychological trauma had come from ANBU. It was equally as likely that Shisui could turn on Itachi next, consumed by bloodlust and unable to discern friend from foe. Itachi knew better than that, though. Even in his red haze, Shisui had known Itachi. If he didn't, Itachi was as good as dead anyway, for he'd no longer wish to live.

The daimyo’s eyes snapped back to Shisui. “Good boy,” Shisui sneered. Then, he twirled his tanto, miming the motion of turning over, his smile charming yet malicious. Itachi found that the expression suited his face quite well, actually.

“Wh… what are you going to do?” the daimyo asked hesitantly.

He raised the blade, the steel glinting dangerously in the low lighting. “Well for starters, I’m going to shove my tanto up your ass, business end first.” The daimyo made a strangled sound. Not a moment later, Itachi’s nostrils flared to the acrid smell of urine. He resumed his pleading, but Shisui spoke over him. “No use resisting,” Shisui told him coldly. “Either you’re going to turn over and I’m going to stab your asshole with this blade, or I’m going to _turn you over_ and stab your asshole with this blade. No need to be so freaked out about it. It’s not even half as bad as the rest of what I’m going to do to you.” Shisui’s voice had regained its playful tone, making mock of the gory scene laid out before him like a bloody comedian. The daimyo tried to pull his body backward with his hand. Shisui pouted, pretending to look offended. “Oh, you don’t want to play with me? Weren’t you about to stab this boy here in the ass with _your_ blade? Is it not fair when someone else wants to do it to you?”

“Please… please…”

Shisui stuck his bottom lip out and shook his head ruefully, looking pleased. “See, I knew you’d beg me for it. Is that what you make them do, too?" He crept closer, undoing all the progress his prey had made in his bid for escape. Desperately, the daimyo flipped over, using his elbows to try to drag himself away. “Ahh! There he is! Glad you came to your senses!” Shisui leapt off of the balls of his feet, muscles uncoiling like a great black, red-eyed panther, dropping onto the back of the daimyo. Then, without another word, he jammed his tanto right up the fat man’s ass, just as promised. A horrified scream split the air, and kept on keening. Shisui, for his part, left the blade embedded in the man’s rectum and lounged back on his body as if it were simply a comfortable chair. “My, you’re a _great_ singer!” Shisui mused, licking the blood off of his fingers as if he’d just enjoyed a delectable treat.

Itachi watched the space between the man’s legs darken with blood, feeling sick but strangely vindicated. Finally feeling a modicum of his consciousness return, Itachi struggled into a sitting position, hiding his naked rear end from public spectacle. He sat on his knees, still bound and gagged, the blindfold hanging around his neck like an accessory.

“Wouldn’t do for you to bleed out before I’m finished,” Shisui muttered. With a sigh, he jerked his blade free, eliciting another broken scream. Calmly, he wiped the blood from his tanto, then bit the steel between his teeth. He mimed at the man to turn over again. Of course, his victim was tortured and terrified, and he wasn’t about to obey. Rolling his eyes, Shisui grabbed the stumps of his ankles and twisted, forcing the man to do as he was bid. “Stay,” he commanded, pointing with his knife. The daimyo writhed backward, trying to leave. Shisui frowned. He reached into his pouch and pulled out four kunai, hooking his fingers through the loops. “Well if you aren’t going to listen…” he purred with a shrug. He tied a loop of wire through the loop of one kunai, then chucked it into the rafters. This, he tied tightly around the daimyo’s left wrist. His hand turned almost immediately purple. He repeated the same treatment with his other hand and both knees, stretching the daimyo out, suspending him about two feet off the ground.

“Don’t pass out,” Shisui commanded him with a frown. “You’ll miss all the fun. See, now, I’m going to cut your cock off and shove it down your fucking throat. And then… well.” He tsked as he yanked the man’s pants down. “Spoilers. Wouldn’t want to ruin the fucking _surprise_.” Just as he promised, he wrapped his hand around the daimyo’s cock and tugged, his face a mask of surgical concentration. With one smooth swipe of his tanto, the organ came free, blood gushing from the horrific wound. “Got it!” Shisui cried triumphantly. “Hope you’re hungry.” He smiled brilliantly and made his way around to the other side, ducking to avoid his wires. “Open,” he commanded, parting his own lips as if the other man needed a demonstration. “Like this, see?” He brought the bloody lump of flesh near his own lips, them grimaced. “You didn’t really think I’d eat that, did you? That’s so gross!”

And then, because the daimyo refused and seemed to be pretty near to passing out, Shisui used the fingers of his right hand to pry open the man’s teeth. He stuck his tongue out with concentration as he pushed his grisly prize in between his lips, shoved it further down yet. The daimyo began to gag, thrashing in his wire. Shisui tsked again. “Don’t do that. The wire will sever your—“ There was the snap and twang of wire and the body rocked for lack of a stable hand. “I tried to tell you,” Shisui complained. “You’re not very obedient. You could learn a lot from my boy Itachi.” His nose twitched in Itachi's direction. 

Despite the graphic nature of the situation, Itachi felt a twinge of pride at the praise.

“You’re really just not that much fun,” Shisui grumbled petulantly, putting his bloody hands on his hips. “I’m over it.” He grazed the tip of his tanto over the daimyo’s silk-wrapped chest, then slowly dug the point in and walked away, delving deeper with every inch. There was the gagging sound of a man choking, then a wet gurgling sound. His abdomen parted easily, spilling entrails over the side of the unbalanced suspension, pouring onto the dust.

Itachi shut his eyes, unable to stomach quite that much. His gut twisted and boiled, threatening to heave. “Open your eyes, Itachi,” Shisui ordered softly, his voice almost sad.

He did as he was told, forced to endure the image of Shisui, painted head to toe with the most vibrant shade of red. He rubbed at his mouth with the back of one hand, smearing the sticky substance across his cheekbones. “Well?” he asked, the word echoing for the sudden quiet emptiness in the building, the daimyo dead.

He made a sound, still gagged. A shift occurred in Shisui, then. The devil left his eyes, replaced with the angel that slept within. Shisui hurriedly wiped his blade and sheathed it, then rushed over to Itachi. Before he released him at all, though, he placed both bloodied hands on either side of his head, framing his face, peering deeply into his eyes, searching for damage. The Sharingan leaked away. Then, in a flurry of expert motions, Shisui undid the gag, jerked the blindfold away, and unbound Itachi’s hands and feet.

“What about the others?” Itachi wondered aloud.

“Dead.”

“The mission?”

“Failed.”

Itachi frowned, confused. Shisui _never_ failed. “But—“

“Shut up, Itachi,” Shisui snarled. “We’re getting the fuck out of here, and I’m going to gut every single fucking person that tries to stand between us and the exit. _Look at me,_ ” he commanded, grasping his shoulders. Itachi did. “No one fucking matters except you and me. Do you understand? Fucking _no one._ ” He jerked Itachi to his feet, hauling his pants up with him. “Now listen,” he continued more softly gesturing with one bloodied finger for emphasis, “and don’t argue with me no matter what I say, okay?” Itachi nodded. “We’re going back to my place. Don’t talk to anyone until I say it’s okay. Don’t go in my room. And don’t. Fucking. _Touch me_.”


	10. Precious Things

* * *

_“Nothing hurts a good soul and a kind heart more than to live amongst people who can’t understand it.”_

* * *

 

_“Run. Don’t stop. Don’t wait. Go straight to my place and wait for me there.”_

_“What about you?”_

_“It’s better if you don’t know. Go on, now.”_

And so he had. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with himself once he got there, though. Erring on the side of caution, he left the lights off and tucked himself in between the coffee table and the couch. He didn’t think anyone had a reason to go to Shisui’s house to look for him there, but Shisui had seemed concerned that they might.

Itachi didn’t like hiding. Or waiting. It was entirely against everything he had ever been trained to do. He should have been there, fighting with Shisui. In his mind’s eye he saw the walls of flame erupt into the dark sky, so bright as to blind, so hot that Itachi’s skin had prickled even from a mile away. _It’s better if you don’t know._ What was Shisui doing now? A dozen times or more, Itachi stood, ready to make for the door, to bust in on the scene as Shisui had done for him. He was more than capable.

And yet … Shisui had harshly commanded him not to argue. Not to do anything other than he was told. Not to go into Shisui’s room and not to touch. 'No.' Just _'no.'_ Itachi cradled the word in his ears and lived it, and he found that the more he accepted the word ‘no,’ the more comfortable he felt about it. Shisui would handle it. Shisui had said that he would. He’d come back and explain everything, and Itachi would be right where he’d been told to be when he arrived.

As time ticked by, and evening became the wee hours, Itachi thought about the cruel shadow of Shisui he’d last seen in the Land of Clay. Dimly, he knew that it was insane not to be afraid. Within his cool, charming cousin lurked a warrior of nightmarish caliber, and he slaughtered mercilessly when provoked. Itachi remembered the way that the daimyo had died, and even though he’d fervently wished for it, he still couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pity for him anyway. Remembering every tiny detail made him simultaneously nauseous and achy, for Shisui had that within him and no one to understand it. He’d seen it, hadn’t he, when Shisui told him to open his eyes? Into those words was poured a measure of grief and resignation, as if he’d assumed that Itachi would not be able to accept that of him.

Did Shisui believe that Itachi would not want him now? Itachi's breathing stilled. With horror, he realized that that must indeed be the case. That was why he’d been so firm. _Gods, he’s hurting._

Itachi felt his presence before he heard the barely audible creak of the door. Shinobi, more silent and stealthy than the wind itself. Itachi stopped breathing. He didn’t move. Shisui was in command; if Itachi so much as twitched without permission, he deserved to be punished. Shisui didn’t turn on the light either; it seemed that both of them preferred the darkness. There was the drop of equipment at the door, the scuff of boots being kicked off, a deep sigh. And then Shisui entered the room. He froze in the doorway, still covered in blood from head to toe and smelling of death and smoke like some macabre phantom back from a one man war. “Itachi,” he said. One word, his name, heavy and silken and loaded with feelings, dark and bright.

It yanked a thread from his heart and pulled, made his chest feel tight, too small to contain his heart. “Yes,” he breathed, awestruck.

His gaze sharpened, arms crossing across his chest, unconsciously protecting himself. He took several breaths before he could speak again, looking grumpy and uncomfortable. When he spoke, his voice sounded small and uncertain. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he replied. “… Are you?”

Shisui stared at him, searching for the lie, not believing Itachi could emerge from that ordeal intact and sane. “Do you hate me?”

In fact, Itachi was rather shocked by the question. “How could I hate you?”

Shisui leveled him with a look. “For all your sublime talent, Itachi, I know what you’re really like. You abhor violence of any kind. You hate the fighting. You don’t like to kill. I _love_ the violence. I _live_ for the kill.”

“Be that as it may, Sir … I think red is your color.”

Shisui’s mouth fell open in silent awe. He seemed to recover, finally, arms releasing his torso to fall at his sides. “Itachi,” he said again, this time completely himself, authoritative and demanding. “Come.” He crooked one finger and seared Itachi with a glance. Enraptured, Itachi went. There was no trepidation, no abhorrence, nothing except for the connection they shared and the need to be a part of it. When he was within a step of the older shinobi, Shisui’s arms opened slowly. Itachi crashed into his chest and sighed into a comfortable hug. Shisui’s face fell down upon the top of his head, nuzzling. For a while they were content just to do that, to know that they hadn’t lost each other in quite the ways that they had each thought.

“There are things that we will do,” Shisui murmured, “that are going to challenge you. It is important to me that you are pushed and that I be the one who pushes you. It is not my intention to actually harm you. If ever there comes a time when what I do to you is not okay, you need to tell me. Just say the word ‘mercy,’ and I’ll stop. Does that make sense?”

He nodded.

“I’m serious, Itachi. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m trusting you.”

He sighed painfully. “I’m so messed up,” he complained of himself.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“How are you so brave?”

“When you’re the one who just took out an army by yourself?”

“It was hardly an army,” Shisui snorted. “Target practice, more like.” He paused. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

That reminded Itachi that there was something he had wanted to ask. “Why did you tell me not to touch you?” he asked timorously.  

Shisui hissed in a breath of air. “Promise you won’t hate me?”

“Promise.”

“Because when I’m around you I’m dangerously close to killing everyone who so much as looks at you. And I was so…” he trembled, a violent shiver, testifying his truth, “…so—fucking— _furious_ , Itachi, that I almost blacked out. If you’d have touched me I’d have either killed you or fucked you and I still don’t know which. Neither would have been okay.” His voice trailed off, breath breezing past Itachi’s ear, eliciting delicious shivers in deep places.

“I see.” He shut his eyes and let his mind wander, wondering what that might have been like. So close to that ordeal, he honestly probably would have panicked.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he murmured again, his words slurring together. He stilled, his breath hot in Itachi’s ear, each puff of air a jolt of desire. Shisui inhaled deeply, running the line of his nose down Itachi’s cheekbone as if in a trance. Itachi relaxed completely, drawn in, Shisui’s lips fluttering as gently as sakura petals, nipping a soft trail down his face, nudging his chin. Itachi’s head lolled over, sighing, relieved that at last he was getting the kind of physical attention he’d been craving for too long. He didn’t dare move, nor breathe, but when Shisui’s lips sucked at the hollow dip in his neck, a breathy groan was born in his throat. He dove fingers into Shisui’s hair, those long, sinful curls that he’d been eyeballing ever since that first kiss. Shisui’s teeth scraped along his collarbone, nipping at the neckline of his shirt. “This needs to go,” he drawled, fingers ghosting up Itachi’s sides, tickling, dragging the offensive garment over his head. Itachi loosed another heavy sigh, happy to comply.

“So hot…” Shisui observed, brushing over his skin. “Heh. You’re like a human furnace.” With the shirt out of the way, he continued his path, nipping, licking, kissing across Itachi’s torso. Abruptly, he stopped, hooked the palms of his hands underneath Itachi’s armpits, lifting Itachi off the floor as if he weighed nothing at all. Itachi was momentarily unbalanced, surprised by the sudden shift, but when Shisui’s face pressed into his abdomen, silken curls tickling, tongue dragging, all of the precursors to protest died in his lungs. So instead, he just wrenched fingers into Shisui’s hair again, shut his eyes, and rolled his head backward, hair grazing his back, adding to the sensations.

The world shuddered as Shisui began to walk, Itachi steady between his palms. It wasn’t until Itachi felt the nearness of the doorframe that he realized. “Sir, this is…”

“My room,” Shisui confirmed. “Yes. And in here is the only place that you may call me Shisui.” He dropped Itachi on the bed with the tortured squeak of bedsprings.

The allowance charged Itachi’s senses, priming him, filled with a power wholly his own. He savored that power, holding it in, wanting to taste and enunciate. There was a certain way he wanted to say it, perfectly and untouchable. Such a power should not be wasted for childish excitement. He watched Shisui intently as his cousin unbuckled his armor slowly, eyes never leaving Itachi’s, smoldering and smoky like the inferno they’d left behind. Vambraces clattered to the floorboards. Chestplate went next. Shisui smirked. “Aren’t you going to say it?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

His breath caught as rows and ripples of Shinobi training revealed themselves, pale and perfect. _Gods … those muscles._ Itachi shook his head, filled with a smile all his own. “Not yet.”

Shisui smirked, eyes hooded with desire. For him. “Pants.” It wasn’t his usual tone of command. Not tonight. In fact, his expression was almost too carefully neutral, patiently waiting as he crossed his arms over his bare chest.

He wasn’t sure what brought about the sudden change, but when he reached for his waistband to tug his pants down, his hands froze, shaking, remembering. “That’s what I thought,” Shisui mourned. “Stay.” Itachi did as he was told, feeling unhappy and embarrassed that he’d been unable to do this one simple thing. He stared at a space upon the floor, bewildered at the involuntary reaction. The dip and squeak of the mattress announced Shisui’s presence behind him. Not being able to see him, though, kind of freaked Itachi out. “Itachi,” Shisui said quietly. “Is this okay?”

Itachi trembled, hovering on the edge of memory and reality. In reality, Shisui was there, but in memory… he shuddered. He straddled that edge, struggling, trying to come back from it. “Itachi.” he repeated, ever patient. “Let me know when you’re okay.”

Dimly, Itachi was aware of what he was doing. Shisui was attempting to heal the trauma out of him. Itachi wanted it to work, too. He shut his eyes, focusing on Shisui’s voice—not the daimyo’s—the feel of the mattress—not the ground—and the scent of stale laundry and a slept in bed—instead of blood and piss and fat old man. Though, to be fair, the scent of blood yet lingered in the room. Shisui’s face was still spattered with it, and his most recently shed set of clothing was saturated. “Itachi,” Shisui repeated, still trying to fling him that rope of reality.

“I’m okay,” Itachi managed, finding his center at last.

Tentatively, Shisui’s fingers reached the nape of his neck. Itachi flinched from the contact, then shivered as Shisui’s fingers rubbed small, gentle circles. That, he found soothing. “This okay?” he asked in the same cautious tone. Itachi nodded. Shisui scooted closer, his hands sliding around Itachi’s middle, grazing carefully over his stomach. “And this?” he breathed into Itachi’s ear.

Itachi took a deep breath and held it, focusing on Shisui’s slow and careful traverse, his breath upon his neck. His lips fell to Itachi’s shoulder, teeth carefully tucked away. “This okay?” he murmured against his skin.

Itachi purred with approval, took another deep breath. This time, when the air slowly escaped his lungs, it dragged his name out with it. “Shisui,” he proffered breathily, the syllables languorous and lazy across his lips.

He felt Shisui’s smile against his shoulder. “Ahh,” Shisui whispered. “There he is.” He continued his kissing journey, up Itachi’s neck, down his shoulder and to the ANBU tattoo on his bicep. “On your stomach,” he ordered. Itachi complied, even if the position brought back frightening memories. “Don’t be afraid,” he cautioned. “It’s me. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.” Itachi squeezed his eyes shut as Shisui’s lips pressed softly to the nape of his neck. “This is precious,” he whispered, his breath a hot fan against Itachi’s bare neck. He shivered from the contrast, a convulsive spasm that rippled through hard muscle. Shisui’s fingers traced, teasing and tickling, across sensitive, untouched shoulders. Human contact for so long had been denied Itachi, and the wicked fingertips of Uchiha Shisui seemed magical. He smiled against Shisui’s pillow as the soothing fingertips and adoring kisses made their way down his spine. This wasn’t so bad.

Then, there was a long, rough drag of Shisui’s tongue against his spine. Itachi rumbled a sound deep in his throat, shameless. It seemed, for a time, that the kisses were replaced with licks until Itachi, curious, had to ask, “What are you doing, Shisui?”

He felt the man’s wicked lips twitch in response. “Licking things to claim them as my own. All of you is mine.” His tongue flickered out once more to reaffirm his purpose, then he chuckled. “Actually, there was still blood on your back. It’s all gone now.”

Itachi’s mind went blank, his smile unfurling as if in a dream. What was it about the thought of Shisui licking blood off of his back that just seemed like the hottest thing ever? He didn’t care to question it, merely allowed his mind to dull and drift, filled up with the soft, sweet touches, attentive lips and tongue. He took a deep breath, embraced serenity, sought the balance of his chakra. That breath, he held, blessedly not thinking at all except about the sensations that lit his body like thousands of tiny flickering candles. “Mmshisui,” he breathed, heart thudding the dull, steady beat of complete and utter relaxation.

“Mm,” he assented. “Still here.” Kisses, kisses, one, two, three. “Every inch of you is so precious,” he whispered, clear and alive in the dark space of his room. “Don’t ever forget that.” His feather light lips moved even lower still, right to the tip of his tailbone, fingers grazing over each curve of Itachi’s buttocks. “This, too.”

Itachi’s breath caught, ambushed by the memory. His muscles shivered violently, tears in his eyes before he had a chance to process. _Precious_ , echoed his mind. “Mine,” Shisui murmured, dispelling the nightmare, tracing patterns upon his skin. “Mine, and no one else’s.”

A sigh escaped Itachi’s lips, the last of the night’s demons exorcised. “Yours,” he agreed sleepily.

Shisui rubbed strong fingers over Itachi’s back, kneading sore muscles and tension from Itachi’s flesh. He thought for sure he would fall asleep then, but some kind of spell yet lingered in the atmosphere of the room. He groaned appreciatively, heaving deep breaths in and out, reveling in the way Shisui’s sharp hip bones dug into the meat of his back.

Apparently, he had fallen asleep at long last. When he came to, Shisui’s chin was tucked into the crook of his neck and Itachi's body was being tugged into the curve of the other in the bed. “Itachi?”

“Hm?”

He hesitated. “Do you love me?”

“Mm,” he grunted in assent.

“Say it.”

A smile tugged onto his lips. “I love you, Shisui.”

Shisui exhaled a great, deep breath, sounding at once relieved and pleased. “Whatever happens, Itachi, don’t forget that. Don’t ever, ever forget that.”


	11. Anticipation

* * *

_“Look into my eyes as I take you into the abyss, and I will show you the dark vile, perverse secrets that are inside of us both.”_

* * *

 

Itachi sat quietly, sipping coffee, watching the movements of his family in their house, readying for the day ahead. His father bellowing, wondering where his flak jacket had gone, for he was sure he had left it right there in the living room the other day. His wife informed him that the living room coffee table was no place for a dirty flak jacket and that it was in the wash, smoothly chastising him for dirtying her perfect house while simultaneously solving the problem of where the flak jacket was. There were integration initiatives in effect now, an attempt to break down the separation of Uchiha from the rest of the village. People like Yashiro and some of the other officers had been absorbed into ANBU for training, promoting some of the standard police force to officer position and opening up a need for more recruits. These new recruits were to come from every clan except Uchiha. From this point onward, inclusion in the police force was for anyone who was interested, and promotion to officer was based on merit alone and approved by the Hokage himself. Uchiha Fugaku was one of two parts of that integration team, the other being Morino Ibiki, whose gruff attitude and no-bullshit methods seemed right at home next to Fugaku’s. Itachi’s father had found a new sense of purpose, and for the first time in as long as Itachi could remember, seemed pretty happy with his life.

Sasuke was walking in and out of the rooms, thinking he was ready for school and forgetting something, an apple bitten between his teeth. In one hand was his weapons pouch, too hastily grabbed to have been fastened yet. In the other hand was a fistful of tortured homework assignments, bearing the smudges of erased and rewritten pencil marks. It was fairly advanced stuff; intermediate physics, trajectories and gravity and wind resistance, that kind of thing. Itachi had helped him complete those assignments the night before. Sasuke was clever, but he had a tendency to procrastinate, and his physics homework hadn’t been as simple as he had initially assumed. Itachi had made sure to drill that point home, that procrastination would keep him from accomplishing his goals, if he let it rule his progress. Just now, Sasuke shot him a grateful glance, an upward tilt of the chin in acknowledgment, made comical by the apple still lodged there.

His mother was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, already dressed for active duty. Sasuke was nearly grown now. He was no longer helpless and didn’t need his mother hovering over him every day. Uchiha Mikoto was finally headed back to the ranks of the jounin, and was set to meet her new genin team that very afternoon. She was splendidly dressed, her hitae-ate affixed proudly to her forehead, humming to herself in between shouting out direction to her various family members, reminding them of all the things they’d otherwise forget. Itachi smiled into his mug. With the stormy nimbus of the coup dispelled, all of them had been able to slide back into some semblance of normalcy as a family, and in that time Itachi had seen his mother for what she really was. Uchiha Mikoto was an immensely powerful woman, married to the head of the Uchiha clan and mother to two talented sons. While her boys entered the community and moved the foundations of Konoha, Mikoto had a kind of supportive magic about her that never forgot the precise location they had forgotten their things, the little things they would need on missions that would otherwise be left behind like lip balm (because a week in the Land of Snow without it was the nearest thing to hell on this earth), and the quiet encouragement that the three of them needed to feed their egos and boost their confidence. She was a different kind of strong, was all.

“Alright, I’m off,” Fugaku announced, pausing just long enough to kiss his wife. Passionately. Itachi averted his eyes out of respect. Since the coup had been avoided, since his father had renewed his fervor for living, it was as if his parents had fallen in love all over again. Sometimes, Itachi found himself wondering if he’d have another sibling soon. Uchiha Mikoto was still of childbearing age.

“Me, too,” Sasuke said, making his last pass through the kitchen. His footsteps hastened when he saw what his parents were doing, shaking his head. He was still young; he didn’t quite understand.

“Have a good day!” their mother called after him. Then, more softly and to her husband, “If I’m late tonight, I left dinner in the fridge. Just put it in the oven. And I couldn’t sleep last night—too excited—so I made up a batch of cookies. They’re in the jar.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, though Itachi heard. “I made them just for you.”

“Hear that, Itachi?” his father asked. “Just for me. Touch them and I’ll cut your hands off.”

He smiled into his mug. “Not even one? Tomorrow is my birthday.”

“I didn’t forget, at least,” Mikoto said warmly. “Not every day your oldest son turns sixteen. You’re on a mission tomorrow, though, right? So let’s celebrate on Thursday instead. I’ll make you up something special.”

“Yes, I’m on a mission tomorrow,” Itachi replied, much more calmly than he felt, his pulse racing. It wasn’t a real mission, after all. “And please, if it’s too much trouble, don’t bother. I don’t need cookies to know that you love me, oka-san.” He glanced quickly at his father, teasing.

“Neither do I,” his father replied with a wink.

Itachi almost choked on his coffee. There were times, like now, when he wished his father was still his old self. The new Fugaku was too… amorous. “Go to work,” Itachi grumbled, facepalming.

Laughing at his victory, his father followed Sasuke out the door.

His mother turned away from the sink, wiped her hands on a towel, and crossed her arms. She smirked at Itachi, and they held each other’s gaze for several moments. “It’s so _good_ to see you happy, Itachi,” she declared, her eyes shining with love. “I’m so proud of you.” There was a time when words like that had irritated him. Mikoto had always been proud of him, and it had never affected him much before. But now… “I’m so glad they didn’t go through with that ridiculous notion,” she went on, meaning the coup d’etat. “And ever since it was called off, this family has really come together. I know about what you said to your father, Itachi. This is really all because of you, and I couldn’t be more proud.”

“It’s good of you to say so,” Itachi said, pleased.

She smiled, happy and full of life. It was good to see her happy, too. He hadn’t realized how much stress she had endured until it was lifted. “I have to get going. If I don’t see you, good luck on your mission tomorrow.”

His breath caught, choked up with nerves. “Thank you, oka-san,” he murmured. She kissed the top of his head, gathered up her things, and left the same way as her husband and youngest son, leaving Itachi alone with his chaotic thoughts.

This was the first birthday he could recall truly looking forward to. He’d had more than enough time to imagine every possible scenario. More than enough time to endure the tension, the teasing smiles, the innuendo, the delicious shivers. He’d grown used to the anxiety and the stress, the want and the need. He’d grown used to the two halves of Shisui’s personality, the devil and the protector. He’d become accustomed to the sudden shifts of tone and demeanor, and knew how to act accordingly. When Shisui smirked and teased, Itachi could relax and joke. When Shisui stared and commanded, Itachi deferred and obeyed. It was easy enough in theory. Itachi read his moods and followed his actions like a perfectly trained pet. Shisui had more than proven his devotion, and Itachi loved every one of his facets, from the mocking imp to the blood soaked wraith to the warm and affectionate confidante.

Even now, he sighed with contentment, drifting off into daydreams about what tomorrow would be like. Tomorrow was the appointed day. They’d waited years for it. Itachi had a good idea of what to expect, but he was still fairly certain that there was nothing he could do to prepare. Shisui knew what he was doing, though, and wherever Shisui was involved, wondrous things happened. If nothing else, Itachi had faith in that.

For today, he didn’t really have any plans, except to relax at home and mentally prepare, if that was at all possible. With all three of his family members out of the house, Itachi was free to bask in his nerves and his daydreams. The whole day was a flurry of emotions ranging from apprehension to excitement to impatience to boredom to disbelief. This was it. Tomorrow was really the day. It was disorienting, to be assailed by so many different emotions in rapid succession. He wasn’t well acquainted with them, after all. The switch between got to be so exhausting that Itachi finally just decided to go to bed early to rush the advent of the new day.

He awoke in a fright, one rough hand clapped over his lips and a knife point at the hollow of his throat. His first instinct was to kill, to thrash and dislodge his attacker. Belatedly, he remembered the Sharingan, and the chakra surged to his eyes, ever faithful. That instinct was wrong, for the similar red eyes that glared into his own suddenly narrowed. The point of the kunai at his throat dug deeper, and Shisui’s hips pressed down upon him, his knee dragging upward, crushing Itachi’s groin. “I told you before,” he whispered savagely. “You do not activate the Sharingan without permission.” His hips surged forward, grinding against Itachi’s, driving his point home.

Itachi groaned into the hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back into his head, shivers of pleasure racking his body. His thought wasn’t coherent, but it did carry with it a general sentiment of _oh, so this is what it’s like._ Very suddenly, Itachi truly understood. It was only made more clear when Shisui's voice cut through the haze, hissing, “Look at me.”

Itachi abandoned the Sharingan and obeyed, staring bravely into Shisui’s hell-dark eyes. They were clouded over with lust and burning with hunger. Every nerve ending in Itachi’s body fired to life on overdrive, his heart raced, and all of the blood in his body fled and pooled right where Shisui’s hips were buried. The result was that he felt chilly from the waist up, but his suddenly swollen organ was aching something fierce, closed in by Shisui’s nearness. “Mm,” Shisui hummed, knowing and cruel. “I know you want me, sweetheart, I do.” His chin tilted, mocking and intrigued. “That’s why I thought we’d start a night early. Do you mind?”

He shook his head only slightly, and the point of the knife dug in further, drawing blood. Held in Shisui’s clutches as he was, that tiny bright point of pain was ecstatic. He whimpered, a sound low in his throat. “Not here, though,” Shisui murmured. “I’m going to make sure that you scream, loudly and often, and here probably isn’t the best place.” Itachi agreed. “So, we’re going back to my place. I’m going to release you now. You will not say a word. You will not make a sound. You will walk ahead of me, with your hands on your head.”

He removed the knife from Itachi’s throat. His hand eased and then retreated a moment later, leaving Itachi breathless and in awe. “Do you understand?” he asked. Itachi nodded but said nothing, as he had been told not to speak. Shisui waited a moment, perhaps to see if he might try to speak, but he’d been training to be Shisui’s subordinate in all ways for the better part of three years now, and the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint, tonight of all nights. Shisui’s smile was pleased, and for a moment all of his muscles relaxed, melding against Itachi, wrapped up like lovers. “Good,” he purred, his voice husky and content. His thumb ran down along Itachi’s chin, eliciting shivers. His mouth closed over Itachi’s, soft yet consuming, full of feelings and promise, defining Shisui and his many facets perfectly: with ferocity, hunger, gentleness and teasing, love and ache, shifting fluidly from one to the next, seamless. It was the single most amazing feeling that Itachi had ever experienced, and it seared and reformed his soul. He heard Shisui’s voice in his memory whispering “ _mine,”_ possessive and dangerous. When Shisui’s lips retreated, Itachi mourned. “Enjoy yourself tonight. Let’s go.” 


	12. As It Should Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I promised you some tags... ;-)

* * *

_“The craft of a master is not imposing dominance, but winning submission.” –Ann Somerville_

* * *

 

The moment the door shut behind them, Shisui grabbed him, spun him, and slammed his back against the door, hands grasped roughly above his head, crushed to the wood. The door rattled in its frame, protesting at its own rough treatment, though the two bodies smashed against it couldn’t care less. Itachi’s head banged painfully against it, but he met the pain head on, embracing it, surrendering to the moment, to the atmosphere, to the man who had him completely at his mercy against a nondescript door in a dimly lit room. Shisui’s face attended to his neck, sharp teeth nipping hard along the cords.

Initially, Itachi’s first impression of the pain was fascination. He’d experienced pain before, and it had always intrigued him. So long as he knew he was in no danger of dying, pain was an interesting feeling. It was all sharp edges and hot flashes, the worm of panic in his gut muted by the awareness that there was no real danger. That was how it felt when Shisui bit a line down his neck, searing bursts of pain that pulsed sharply from his lover’s teeth to a secret place deep within his core. It stole his breath, that involuntary, momentary panic. He squirmed, testing his wrists against Shisui’s hands. Trying to escape was a poke, though, and Shisui’s overpowering strength crushed the small bones of his wrists against the wood. The jutting bones of his knuckles were bruised as Shisui’s teeth sank deep into the meat of his shoulders, and Itachi yelled out with pain, the pulse of it ripping a sound from his throat. He blinked, surprised that he had done it. “I’ve been waiting for this,” Shisui said against his skin, teeth scraping, fingers tightening.

Itachi’s fists balled, tensing the muscles in his wrists, reminding himself how completely at his mercy he really was. That knowledge was comforting, as fucked up as Itachi felt that might be. It was a perfectly controlled environment, and Shisui steered. “Haven’t you?” Shisui purred.

“Yes,” Itachi gasped as his teeth sank into his chest so hard as to draw blood. “Gods!” he moaned at the advent of that wound.

Shisui released his hands and spun him so fast that he felt dizzy, ready to keel over. His palms shoved Itachi harshly, and the side of his face connected with the door. Shisui’s hand buried in his hair, twisting, pulling on the sensitive skin of his scalp as he pressed the side of Itachi’s face solidly against the door, his body crashing fully against Itachi’s, allowing him to feel the full force of Shisui’s erection as his own was painfully crushed. He groaned. “Yes _Sir_ ,” Shisui hissed emphatically through his teeth into Itachi’s ear. “Try again.”

 _Gods_ , his body was _on fire._ “Yes, Sir,” Itachi whispered meekly, quite subdued.

“Louder,” Shisui commanded cruelly.

“Yes, Sir!” he repeated, his jaw aching against the wood.

Shisui licked his ear, causing Itachi to shiver with anticipation. “Good boy,” he rewarded, his voice a silken caress. His body pulled away, leaving Itachi panting against the door, chastised and trembling, muscles fuzzy, feeling as if he’d been drugged. The only fully formed sentiment in his brain was a sense of wonder, so potent and heady that Itachi had to laugh, giddy with it, his chest heaving up and down with the force of his breath. He shut his eyes and basked in it, but he flinched when he heard the sound of fabric tearing, shuddered when he felt the feathery breeze of cloth against the skin of his back. It took him a moment to realize that Shisui was cutting the shirt from his back. “You think this is funny, huh?” Shisui cooed mockingly.

Itachi bit his lip, entertaining a sliver of fear. The cool tip of the kunai dragged slowly up his spine, accompanied by the raspy tear of fabric. It was sharp and concerning, demanding all of Itachi’s conscious attention. “No, Sir,” he whispered carefully, trying not to move at all.

The point paused and dug in a little more, putting a cold knot in his throat. “Good.” With a quick flick of his wrist, the knife finished it’s path, and the two halves of Itachi’s shirt fell apart, exposing the skin of his back. “On your knees,” he commanded, “facing me.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out where _that_ was going, and the realization made Itachi’s heart pound wildly in his throat. While his mind floated off into a state of nerves and insanity, his body complied, perfectly trained to obey Shisui’s will, responding automatically to that tone of command. He dropped to his knees, banging them into the floor, adding to the already throbbing world of ache. _I am pain_ , he said to himself, a twisted pep talk for the mind of the depraved. Upon his knees, he gazed up at his cruel master.

Shisui’s impossibly beautiful dark eyes gazed down at him, stunning in their intensity. Itachi was overcome with admiration. There, in that position, with Shisui hovering above him, solid against the dim, flickering backdrop— _candles?_ —and him upon his knees in deference, was exactly how it should be. Shisui had earned his respect and admiration, had protected him when he could and loved him when no one else had. It was easy to surrender, to submit his life into this man’s hands. Gazing down upon him, firm and unyielding, Shisui was the perfect master. It was too perfect. Natural. Right where he belonged. His heart was filled with a fathomless, abyssal well of love and adoration. “Master,” he whispered, overcome and eager to please.

Shisui’s lips curved in that wicked smirk, the reason Itachi had fallen for him in the first place. He patted Itachi’s head, rewarding him for good service. Then, the smile slipped away, leaving him serious and somber. His shoulders shrugged forward, elegant fingers curled in the hem of his shirt, dragged across the crown of night-dark curls as the shirt was relinquished, dropped to the floor without anyone’s eyes upon it. No one cared about the shirt. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants next, and he dragged them down, revealing sinful, delectable ridges of pelvis and muscle. Itachi wanted to weep for relief. Ever since he had barely caught a glimpse of Shisui naked that night he’d tried to kill him, Itachi’s imagination had struggled to paint the rest of that picture accurately. Now, in the romantic glow of candlelight, his fantasies need not continue. Itachi’s eyes locked on as Shisui’s cock sprang free, suspended and heavy. “Show me,” Shisui demanded, his voice shaking, too, “what a good boy you can be.”

Itachi scooted forward, reaching with his hands, pulse racing, blood pounding. Shisui tsked, and Itachi froze. “No hands,” he ordered, that sly devil’s smile back upon his face. The thrill of this was intoxicating, for Shisui’s wickedness was not merely limited to how much pain he could induce. This was a game, a perverse and playful game of pain and pleasure, of growls and laughter. And oh, was it _exciting!_ With a smirk of his own, put at ease, Itachi dragged his hands behind his back, clasping them low upon his back. He peered up at Shisui through his lashes, plastering a shy façade upon his face, noting with satisfaction how Shisui’s mouth fell open, pierced by the sight. Eyes never leaving his master’s, Itachi licked his lips and leaned forward.

Shisui was groaning before his lips ever touched him. Itachi had not been the only one who had been waiting for this moment. Shisui’s slackened face reminded Itachi that he had power, too, of a different kind. With that realization, his fear fled. At this moment, Itachi was in control. He closed his lips over the head of Shisui’s shaft, testing and tentative, a lover’s first kiss. He laved and swirled, learning the geography of a phallus in an entirely new way. It seemed much harder, this close, caught in between the softness of his lips. He shut his eyes, savoring new sensations, losing himself to his motions. Braver, more curious now, he challenged himself to see how much of this he could fit into his mouth. He widened his lips and drew Shisui in, feeling fingers dive into his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and yanking, setting Itachi’s skull on fire. It pulled a grunt of pain from Itachi, though it sounded muffled with a cock in his mouth. Shisui hissed a moment later, jerking on his scalp again, repeating the sound making on both accounts. Itachi screwed his eyes shut, feeling vulnerable, Shisui’s grip on his scalp keeping him from being able to withdraw.

And then, Shisui pressed his hips forward, hands keeping Itachi’s head still, forcing himself down further into his mouth, grazing the back of his throat. Itachi gagged, coughed, heaved and nearly hurled, tears running down his face, born of involuntary reflexes. His eyes burned. Shisui only let up long enough for him to compose himself, though, before easing right back in. Itachi surrendered to the whims of his master. If it was his destiny to die choking on Shisui’s cock, so be it. His life was Shisui’s to do with as he would. He merely waited, mouth open, as Shisui found his pleasure fucking his mouth, a throaty rumble rolling around in Itachi’s ears as unwelcome tears poured down his face. His mind was awash with panic, that he might not be able to breathe or that he might throw up. When he was completely lost to Shisui’s actions, accepting what may come, Shisui stopped, pulling Itachi’s head back, off of the hard rod of flesh. He smoothed back Itachi’s hair, petted it back from his sweaty forehead and the river of tears. Itachi didn’t forget who he was. Gasping for air, licking the taste upon his lips, he struggled to focus on Shisui’s face through the haze of wetness in his eyes. “Was Sir pleased?” he gasped out.

Shisui’s eyes smiled, those long lashes fluttering shut and back open, casting miniscule shadows across his face. “Oh yes,” Shisui rasped, voice raw with yet unfulfilled satisfaction. “But we aren’t done yet.” His hands pressed underneath Itachi’s chin, drawing him back to his feet. Thumbs pushed the tears from his eyes. “You look gorgeous, like this,” he murmured, kissing him over each eye.

Itachi’s heart preened at the praise. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I have a gift for you. A birthday present.” His smile was sweet and adorable. Other Shisui. Itachi hadn’t expected a birthday present, other than mindblowing sex, anyway. His facial expression ticked with surprise, intrigued. “Go sit on the couch, and I’ll go get it.” Shisui stepped out of the way and nudged Itachi along, and Itachi made his way to the couch as Shisui disappeared to his room.

 _His room_. Itachi wondered if they’d get to go there, tonight, that he might be able to say Shisui’s name again. Shisui’s name on his lips was the most divine word known to man. _No_ , he reminded himself. _Just me._ There was no one else who had the privilege now to say Shisui’s name in such a manner. It was a sweet susurration allowed only to him. Itachi felt, in that moment, precious and special. Only he was allowed to see this side of Shisui. Only he could handle that. It was a wondrous, heathen power, meant only for the wicked and wanton.

Shisui emerged with a strip of leather curled around the knuckles of one hand. Silver rings gleamed in the candlelight. Shisui came around to kneel before him, one elbow resting on each of Itachi’s knees. “Itachi,” he said softly. “I don’t know if you will understand when I say this, but… for someone like me to offer a collar to you is kind of a big deal.”

 _A collar._ Itachi blinked, eyes fixating on the piece in his hands, held upon the flat of his palms. It was black, tooled with what looked like birds. _Ravens_ , he realized with appreciation. He loved ravens. Shisui must have somehow known, though he didn’t remember ever telling him. He wondered what the rings were for, but other than that, the collar was beautifully wrought. Where had he gotten such a thing?

“It means I want to keep you,” he went on to explain. “That you are mine, and only mine, never for anyone else.” Their gazes locked, and between them stormed a flurry of emotions, dark and burgeoning, morphing from the tense infatuation they’d been brewing between them into something even deeper yet, an impossible brand of love that none would ever understand. The thought of belonging to Shisui forever was… breathtaking. “I love you, Itachi. Do you want this?”

Itachi bowed his head slightly, hoping to convey a variety of things, from deference to humility to admiration and acceptance. “Yes, Sir. I will wear it with pride.” He meant it, too. He swept his hair out of the way.

“Say my name,” he commanded softly.

Itachi shut his eyes and let it drift through his imagination, rest upon his lips. He licked it, tasted it, wanted to savor it forever. But the sounds of such a thing were meaningless if not given a voice. Itachi vowed, though, then and there, that Shisui’s name must never be spoken except in situations like this. Softly, secretive, savored and sibilant, just to be whispered between them. Itachi peeked at him through the curtain of his hair, using the beauty of Shisui’s face to get the inflection just right. “Shisui…”

“Ah,” Shisui smiled, just as sweet. “There he is.” He reached forward, beneath the barrier of Itachi’s hair, clasping the shock of leather about Itachi’s neck. The settling of the cool leather upon his skin was calming, the scent of hide like incense. Being collared was a revelation. It felt only right, and it felt like exactly what it signified, a sentiment Shisui whispered on the heels of that thought. “Mine,” he uttered fiercely, grasping Itachi’s head and leaning forward to kiss him upon the brow. 

“Yours,” Itachi responded, feeling perfectly at ease.

Shisui retreated a moment later, pushing the coffee table out of the way. There was a rug beneath it that he also moved, revealing an iron ring set into his floor. Itachi wasn’t an idiot. There were rings upon his collar, a ring upon the floor. Yes, their night had only just begun. Hidden in the shadows of his hair, Itachi smiled.

 


	13. Songbird

* * *

_“Don’t die with your song still inside of you.”_

* * *

 

“Now,” Shisui drawled out slowly. “Things will get interesting.”

Itachi shuddered. In his mind, things were already pretty interesting, but Shisui seemed to have a creative mind, and he was curious regardless.

Shisui fixed him with a stare, observing, watching carefully. “Itachi, will you freak out if I tie you up and cover your eyes?”

 _How sweet of him to wonder,_ Itachi thought. He took the time to think about it. _Really_ think about it, for the last time his eyes and hands had been bound… it wasn’t Shisui. That was really the only thought he needed to have. The collar felt light about his neck. Yes, he was definitely ready for this. “No, Sir,” he assented.

“Do you remember your safeword?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

Shisui crooked a finger, and Itachi rose from the cushions to join him on the living room floor. Shisui’s hands slipped over his lumbar, fingertips sliding between the waistband of his pants and his buttocks. He pulled Itachi close to him, the heat between their skin scorching, sensational. He kissed him, deeply, passionately, full of impossible love and gentleness. Itachi returned it with equal fervor, tongues clashing, lips nipping, breath mingling. Itachi moaned against his lips, thoroughly sick of wearing pants; they were restraining his own groin, trapped and uncomfortable. Shisui’s hands squeezed, making it even more so unbearable. “Do you need something?” Shisui asked huskily. “Just ask.”

“May I take my pants off, Sir?” he breathed, their lips brushing as he spoke.

Shisui smirked, exposing pretty white teeth, eyes fastened to Itachi’s lips as he phrased the question. “No,” Shisui denied. He kissed the tip of Itachi’s nose. “Say please.”

“Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, Sir.”

Shisui grabbed a fistful of Itachi’s crotch and squeezed. Itachi’s mouth fell open, gasping from shock and ache, pulsating and angry. “Please, Sir, _what_?” he hissed savagely.

Panting, gasping, he whimpered. “Please, Sir, may I take my pants off? Please?”

Shisui leaned forward and clamped Itachi’s pouting lip between his teeth. This, he sucked on for a moment, striking contrast to the handful of erect cock that he yet abused. The dichotomy was profoundly arousing, so much so that Itachi wanted to faint right there, die if he must, to make it last forever. Then, so softly it was barely audible, Shisui’s lips moved and released the offensive word again. “No.” That impish slash of lips transitioned swiftly into an equally irksome smile. “But since you’ve been such a good sport so far, I think I can help you with that ache in your drawers.” Warm, firm hands dragged his britches down, thumbs caressing hipbones, the line of Shisui’s nose grazing the hard muscles of Itachi’s abdomen as his face followed down. The muscles in Itachi’s groin twitched in anticipation, thinking he might do what Itachi himself had been persuaded to do earlier. To have Shisui’s mouth upon him that way… the thought was too much. Shisui did grasp the shaft at the base, pumped a couple of strokes, and kissed the tip appreciatively, stroking the back of Itachi’s thighs as he did so, pouting up at Itachi’s drunken gaze.

But both of them knew that this was not Shisui’s place. It was Itachi’s. Shisui clamped down moderately hard with his teeth, eliciting a tortured moan from his lover. “Down here,” Shisui commanded. Itachi knelt above the ring. Shisui stood, returning them to the natural order of things. Shisui sauntered over to an end table and opened the drawer. From it, he extracted a coil of black silken rope and a kunai. Itachi watched, his pulse racing as Shisui began the process of crafting knots. He tied the center ring of Itachi’s collar down to the ring in the floor. It was a short length of rope; in this way, Itachi would be unable to stand.

Gentle, attentive fingers caressed beneath Itachi’s chin, forcing Itachi to look up into his face. Apprehension and ache tormented Itachi, but the look in Shisui’s eyes was subliminally beautiful. If this was what it was going to be like every time, Itachi was looking forward to his life with Shisui. It was so like everything that he had originally thought being a Shinobi would be like, the constant companionship of searing physical pain, combined with the satisfying emotional fulfillment of being a part of something lovely. The application of the concept was so different, here in this room, but the effect was generally the same. Itachi’s body was agony and bound to be further abused, but his heart was full and his mind was open, and the hands of his master were skilled and loving.

Life was good.

His mind was humming with illogical pleasure as Shisui tied tight knots around each of Itachi’s wrists, fixing them to another ring hidden behind tapestries on either wall, pulling Itachi’s arms out straight from his body, perpendicular, shoulders tense and strained.  When Shisui came around in front of him again, he held a scarlet strip of fabric. His smile was naughty and brilliant as the red slash of cloth was placed over Itachi’s eyes. The world went dark, all other senses immediately heightened: sound, touch, scent, and taste as Shisui’s tongue flickered over his lips one more time. Shisui caressed Itachi’s face, nuzzled his ear, nipped the lobe.

Then, in the voice of sin itself, he whispered sweetly, “Sing for me, Itachi.” One hand smacked his face lightly, unexpectedly, and made Itachi hiss and flinch. Shisui’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper as he added, “and don’t forget that safeword.”

“I remember.”

“Good.” There was a soft snap, and then something came down with a wrath upon his shoulders and a loud crack of leather upon taut flesh. He cried out involuntarily, more out of surprise than pain. But Shisui wasn’t done yet. The strokes came one after the other, quick succession. Itachi’s body squirmed and writhed, trying to avoid the lash. Of course, the rings that held him fast didn’t give him a lot of space to evade, and every lash fell upon him precisely. He yelled and yelled, shoulders twisting, muscles tightening… and despite it all, against all logic, his cock only agonized more. If Itachi wasn’t so busy fighting the rising frenzy lodged within his chest, he might have had the grace to be overwhelmed with awe.

The whipping stopped, and Shisui’s hands splayed out upon his shoulders. “Ahh, so warm,” he marveled, caressing. Itachi panting, shivering as Shisui’s cool, gentle hands massaged abused flesh. “Do you feel sufficiently chastised?” Shisui asked.

Itachi recognized this as a test, and vowed not to disappoint. There was too much left to experience, and the burn in his groin wasn’t going to go away on its own. The way to reach Shisui was to manipulate. Give him exactly what he wanted. What he wanted was Itachi’s screams, his compliance. He wanted Itachi to beg and plead, to worship and admire. Pulse racing, pounding in his temples, Itachi blew out a full exhalation and smiled. “No, Sir,” he responded bravely. Itachi was an elite Shinobi, trained to withstand torture of a heinous caliber. A few flogging swats was hardly going to be the end of him.

He heard Shisui’s sharp intake of breath. “Excellent answer, my pet,” Shisui congratulated, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. His footsteps walked away, only to return a moment later. “I love the sound of your voice,” Shisui cooed, the leather thongs of whatever tool had visited the welts upon his back skimming over the shoulders they’d molested. Itachi sighed at the gentle touch, delighting in the feast of sensations; the scent of Shisui’s body, the gentle touches, and the angry, burning pain of his back.

And then, there was a searing, scorching splash upon his back, and Itachi screamed, shaking and thrashing to try to escape it. _Torture!_ His mind shrieked, eyes scrunching shut, violently jerking his wrists against his restraints. The rings clanked and rang, but did not give way. “Fuck!” Itachi shouted as the heat suddenly dissipated. “What the hell was that?” Itachi gasped out, astonished. The pain was gone almost as soon as it had come, so quickly that he hadn’t even had the time to process.

Shisui chuckled, amused. “Wax.”

“Gods,” he breathed, coming down from the momentary pain-induced high. His breath came in shallow gasps, heart beating so fast it might have stopped entirely.

“Want some more?”

Itachi smirked, terrified and thrilled at the same time. “Yes, please, Sir.”

“Hn. Too eager by half. You’re delightful, you know that?” Itachi heard the clink of glass upon wood as Shisui returned the candle to a table. “I don’t think you can handle this one, but I suppose you’ll let me know. So sing, little songbird.”

Itachi only had a moment to feel nervous before there was a deafening, pronounced _crack!_ And Itachi’s soul fled the planet, careening through hell in an instant, pain so unbearable that he was sure he was dying, all the while his soul danced with glee, stupidly ecstatic. The room was filled with the tortured howling of Uchiha Itachi, a string of curses, and the steady snapping off something hard and whiplike across his already painful shoulders. “Stop!” he begged, tears soaking his blindfold. “Gods, please, no!” he screamed everything he could think of to make it stop, thrashing, jerked so violently against his ropes that his wrists were cut and pinched by the knots, the nape of his neck bruised by the pretty raven-clad strap of leather that held him fast.

The switch kept going, and Itachi’s consciousness drifted off to somewhere blissful, where pleasure and pain suddenly became the same thing. The change left him breathless and gasping, moaning from somewhere lodged in his throat, so intense that it actually scared Itachi. Was he dying? He sagged against his restraints, going slack within them and finally barely croaked out, “Mercy,” completely out of breath and out of fight.

Distantly, he heard the sound of wood clattering to the floor, and Shisui’s arms flew around his neck a moment later. Shisui kissed his face all over, shushing, caressing. “You’re okay, baby,” he cooed. “We’re safe here.” Itachi wasn’t here, not really. He was still floating away, a phantom freed from his body, unaware anymore of what was even going on. His limbs buzzed with a pleasant numbness, as if he were drugged or injected with ice. Or fire. Or both at once. He kept taking deep breaths, trying to remember what it was like to be Itachi, to be alive, to be real.

“Mmmokay,” he mumbled weakly, returning back to the mortal plane. He swallowed, putting his mind back together, tried again. “I’m okay. Thank you, Sir.”

“Enough for tonight,” Shisui told him, untying the knot from his collar, then undoing the restraints on his wrists. He kissed the angry red rivulets on both wrists, apologizing with his lips. When he was released from his bonds, Itachi sagged forward. Shisui gathered him into his lap, holding him closely, swiping off the blindfold. Beneath his face, Itachi felt Shisui’s pulse racing. “Gods,” he breathed, awestruck, “you were fucking _marvelous_ , Itachi.”

 “Thank you, Sir,” Itachi murmured by rote, beginning to feel pretty proud of himself, too. _What the fuck just happened to me?_ he wondered, feeling uncharacteristically vulgar.

“Uh-uh,” he corrected with a shake of his head. “Thank _you_.” He petted Itachi’s hair. “It’s not always going to be like this, you know. Sometimes even I want it to be gentle and sweet.” As if to prove a point, he pressed the gentlest of kisses to his brow.

“It hurts,” Itachi grumbled.

Shisui stilled. “I’m… sorry.”

Itachi frowned, realizing Shisui had misinterpreted. “No, no… the pain itself is fine, now. I mean, it’s there. It aches, throbs, but it’s calming. I did that, I really did that.” His voice held a measure of awe, for himself, for what he’d just endured. “And I’m… _fine_.”

“I’m so very proud of you,” Shisui congratulated.

“That’s not what hurts, though.” He reached down and rested one hand over his engorged and, by now, very painful erection. “I need… something…” Shisui seemed to figure out what he meant then, and his gaze sharpened. “May I… touch myself, please, Sir? Or can you…?”

Shisui gathered Itachi to his chest and squeezed him. “Gods, you undo me, Itachi.”

Itachi’s breath stilled. _Four. And five._ He wanted them. Shisui’s last two promises. “Sir, may I please say your name?”

Shisui nodded as he fervently answered, “Yes, you’ve more than earned it.”

Itachi was thoroughly pleased, even if his groin did ache fiercely, and the name rolled off his tongue easily now. “Shisui… will you please fuck me? _Please_.”

Shisui’s voice was ragged when he answered, tormented. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Itachi,” he protested.

“You promised.”

“Not tonight, Itachi,” he rejected. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

“Why not?” he asked, crestfallen.

“Because it hurts.”

“I already hurt.”

Shisui’s lips quirked downward, but his expression was stony as he repeated his response. “No.”

“ _Please_.”

“If you ask me again, I’m going to do it, Itachi, and gods help me, safeword or no safeword I’m not going to be able to stop.” His fingers , arms, and legs curled reflexively around Itachi’s body, holding tightly, unwilling to let go for any reason.

Itachi took it as a challenge. Shisui was his master, and he was happy to comply, but he was also a Shinobi of the highest caliber. Shisui wasn’t going to kill him; he wouldn’t. Whatever Shisui thought that he might do to cause Itachi pain, it didn’t matter. The things they had just done were painful, yes, but survivable, strangely thrilling, exciting in their own way, and arousing, too. The stiff and insistent presence between his thighs was evidence enough. A craziness claimed him, blind trust, complete lunacy. Somewhere between here and release was indescribable agony. “Shisui,” he began, using the name without permission, noting with satisfaction how his nails dug into Itachi’s skin, provoked. He’d learned, being second to Shisui, that if he provoked, he evoked the reaction he was looking for, and so he acted out on purpose to get what he wanted. _“Please, I want you.”_

He was flipped so suddenly, his head spun. Shisui’s fingers pinched the nape of his neck, pressing his skull upon the hard wooden floorboards. “Ohhh,” Shisui laughed without humor. “You’re so going to wish you hadn’t pushed me tonight, Itachi.”

Itachi shut his eyes, completely embracing his pain. The hard surface upon his face was as soft as the mattress. Shisui’s rough hands upon his back were as a caress. He had expected that this particular moment would terrify him, given the circumstances, and yet… he bit his lip, preparing for it. Shisui nipped at his spine, and Itachi’s back bowed, arching obscenely, his ass rising even further. He sucked air through his teeth, a needy sound born deep in his throat.

His hands massaged Itachi’s buttocks, then spread him wide open. He felt his breath upon him there next, pulse racing frantically, embarrassed if he was honest, though he was moaning and writhing with so much need that it hurt more than the pain ever had. “Yes, yes, yes,” he repeated over and over, barely audible. Shisui licked, languid and slow and Itachi whimpered, feeling everything below his navel tighten internally, sensations never before felt for any reason. “Oh, _gods!”_ he cried out. “Fuck, Shisui. Just _… hnhh.”_ Shisui laughed, vibrations in sensitive places, and Itachi bit his lip so hard that he drew blood, nails scraping floorboards. His mind spiraled into nothing, a mindless, drooling pile of man upon the floor. He was nothing, nothing left at all.

And that was exactly what Shisui had been waiting for. Itachi had nothing left to say or do. He was a bundle of oversensitized nerves, giddy with ecstasy, unable to think, completely malleable to Shisui’s will. “ _Gods_ , do whatever you will,” Itachi moaned wretchedly, legs trembling, ready to live or die on command.

Shisui positioned himself right there where he was needed, and Itachi was so clouded over with lust that he even leaned back, rushing his cousin. “You have no idea just how hot you are, do you?” he said, more to himself than Itachi. “But since you asked so nicely before… sorry, Itachi. This is going to hurt like hell.”

Itachi opened his mouth to say that he didn’t care, not anymore, but what came out instead was a tortured shriek as Shisui forced himself inside. Itachi felt as if he were being torn apart, split in half from the ass onward. He screamed, punctuated by powerful thrusts. At some point amidst the shouting, Shisui’s hand closed around Itachi’s cock, skilled, experienced fingers coaxing an added inflection to the tone of his wails, a note of ecstasy despite it all, pleasure and plain threaded together in sweet harmony as Shisui moaned right along with him. Itachi wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he shut his mouth, biting his lip ferociously, and listened, wanting to hear it, the sounds his master made as he found the height of his pleasure.

And gods, was it sweet music to his ears. Shisui jerked Itachi up by the shoulders, one hand snaking up to wrap around his throat, squeezing, sending that once familiar jolt of searing pleasure to that coil within his gut as Shisui’s hips pushed. He loosed a snarl deep in his throat as he came, Shisui’s other hand playing him like a favored instrument, knowing just how to stroke and how fast, and Itachi was inexorably lost, forever, and fine.

Shisui’s teeth bit into the meat of Itachi’s shoulder, his breath coming in uneven ragged gasps. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept repeating, the crease of his brows tensing and untensing around Itachi’s skin. “Itachi,” he gasped out, the hand around Itachi’s throat closing mercilessly, dots sparkling in front of Itachi’s eyes. Shisui shuddered, hips jerking wildly, crying out wordlessly as he came.

Panting and spent, they curled in on each other. Itachi was awash with excruciating, miserable hurt, but at the same time, he was blissfully sated. _At last,_ he thought. He felt wanted, cherished. “Wow,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” was all Shisui had to say.


	14. Mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when you post a 'draft' of a chapter, it saves the date the chapter was added as the day the draft was added. You might not have been alerted to the LAST chapter because I forgot to change the date to March 13. Sorry about that. :( 
> 
> As payment for my n00b mistake, I'm giving you another chapter with the proper date. If you missed the last one though, you might want to go back and read it. 
> 
> Posting drafts was a new thing for me, but I've almost got the hang of it. Sorry again. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

* * *

_Because of you I can feel myself slowly but surely becoming the me I have always dreamed of being –Tyler Knott Gregson_

* * *

 

Itachi felt an odd pit in his stomach as consciousness seeped back in, as if he were an alien in his own skin. With that dim awareness came a range of odd emotions that he couldn’t quite describe. First and foremost was the nervous wrench in his gut as he remembered where he was, what he had done, and whom he had done it with. Shisui was still asleep, curled up on his side facing Itachi with the faintest crease in his brow, as if he were having a bad dream. The sheets were tangled and completely out of place between them, woven in between legs and stuffed under arms. One of his hands was stuffed under his pillow, but the other was upon the mattress in the space between them, slightly curled, knuckles resting against Itachi’s arm. It was odd, but… his cousin always seemed so relaxed in the waking world. That Shisui should sleep in any way without that smirk on his face seemed incorrect.

Without really thinking about it, Itachi reached out and caressed Shisui’s cheek. The muscle there ticked momentarily, and the crease in his brow lessened. A moment later, he sighed, his fingers twitching against Itachi’s arm. It made him smile, thinking perhaps he’d helped Shisui leave behind some mild nightmare. With a sigh, he craned his neck over Shisui’s bare shoulder to read the alarm clock on the stand. It was just after 8:00 a.m.. Usually Itachi didn’t sleep past about 7:00, but it must have already been really late the night before when… Itachi stilled, remembering. The memory brought flashes of pleasure, aftershocks brought on by the gravity of what he’d done. He stared at Shisui’s now placid face with awe, surprised by it all. That they had come this far, that he’d been this lucky to be a part of Shisui’s life, and that he was there, right then, perfectly content to be sleeping with bottled darkness.

This was it. They’d really done it, crossed that line they’d been toeing for the past several years. They had risked everything for this morning, for Itachi knew without a shadow of a doubt now that, no matter what Sasuke and his mother felt, his father would never accept his relationship with Shisui. Hints had already started dropping about Itachi’s role in the clan, hints that involved lashing himself to some well-bred Uchiha lady. Even the thought of it turned Itachi’s stomach. Duty had always been important to Itachi, but… he glanced again at the peaceful guise of Shisui, and felt it like a heart’s tattoo that there was no way he would give this up for anything. Just how far he would go to protect this newly formed bond not even he could truly imagine, though he knew just as surely that he would be willing to see how far that limit reached, to the edge of death itself.

With a pleasant sigh, he tipped over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. There was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep. Every few minutes he found his gaze drawn back to Shisui, all sharp planes and angelic features, wicked and sinful lips slightly parted and breathing evenly as he slept. Since he was sleeping, Itachi had all the time in the world to simply stare in wonder, and Shisui was worth staring at. A nauseating wave of affection accompanied his stares, though. Itachi wasn’t used to that. It was wonderful and scary at the same time, very disconcerting.

It wasn’t long before he felt a need to get up and move around. On a normal day, he’d have been fed and off for a run, but since it was his birthday, he figured it was safe to sleep in. Despite that, he was fidgety and feeling odd, and he needed to get up. As carefully as he could, he slid himself to the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping shinobi. Even then, he couldn’t help but keep glancing behind where Shisui still lay, torn between laying back down and settling in to go back to sleep or getting up and walking around, leaving Shisui to sleep alone. The decision was much harder than anticipated, but in the end, sixteen years of ninja breeding won out, and Itachi stood. He stretched, yawned silently, his jaw cracking. His muscles were aching from head to toe and he was sure his rear end was injured, but he was equally certain that it would heal. The soreness was actually pleasant, a tactile reminder of the night before, sketched intricately like a tattoo of Shisui all across his body.

He glanced around for his pants, then remembered that he had lost them in the living room somewhere. No matter. He and Shisui were of a height, so he located a pair of Shisui’s pants and padded out to the kitchen. He’d been in this house before, but he’d never been there for more than a few minutes at a time, so it took a minute to acquaint himself with the kitchen. Nevertheless, most people followed the same kind of kitchen organization guidelines, and his instincts were better than most. In no time at all, Itachi had a pot of coffee brewing, fruit cut, and bread ready to be toasted for when Shisui woke up. Still restless, he did some stretches, pushups, and sit-ups, though it felt as if he’d already had a strenuous workout.

Time kept passing. Apparently, Shisui slept as one dead.

Itachi glanced at the clock continuously, watching the minutes tick by while Shisui slept the day away. After a couple of hours, Itachi gave up and returned to bed with a book, easing into the sheets next to the warm and sleeping form of Uchiha Shisui. It had been quite a long while since Itachi had indulged in any reading, and truth be told, he was grateful for the opportunity.

He was three chapters in when a deep inhalation and a groggy groan announced that Shisui was alive after all. He stretched, eyes still closed, face screwed up comically. His eyes barely winked open, lashes blinking lazily against his cheeks, before his brows arced upwards and his dark eyes fixed on Itachi. His eyes blinked once, twice, and then his lashes fluttered closed and he smiled. “Thought I was dreaming for a second,” Shisui murmured. “I’ve had a lot of dreams that started this way.”

“Good morning, Sir,” Itachi greeted with a smile of his own.

“Mm,” he grunted, smacking his lips as he slowly awoke. His brows tightened. “What time is it?”

Itachi peeked over at the clock. “11:21.”

“Still early,” he grumbled, eyes still closed. He wiggled his way over to Itachi and buried his face under his elbow.

Itachi couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve been up for hours,” he told him.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping in?” Shisui slurred. “It’s your birthday, after all. Oh. And happy birthday.” He tipped his face and kissed Itachi’s elbow, then made as if to go back to sleep.

“I did sleep in,” Itachi deadpanned, closing the book. “Then I got up and made breakfast and coffee and waited.”

“Hm,” Shisui grumbled. Itachi nearly laughed; he had never known how bad Shisui was at mornings. Itachi himself had always used mornings as training time. Shisui didn’t seem to like to drag himself out of bed. It was rather adorable. A few minutes of comfortable silence passed and then, “Did you say there was coffee?”

He did smile then, though Shisui never saw it. “Yes.”

“It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” Shisui complained, burrowing ever deeper into Itachi’s side. If anything, he was even further from rising to greet the morning that was soon to shift into afternoon.

Itachi curled an arm around him, glad he’d come back to bed after all. “You do take care of me. All the time. It would actually please me better if you’d let me take care of you today, Sir.”

Somewhere deep in Shisui’s burrow of blankets and Itachi, that sinful grin of his bloomed to life. Every muscle in his face twitched with the strength of it. “You’re perfect, you know that?” Shisui mumbled, the sound of his voice muffled.

 _Me?_ He thought incredulously, feeling blessed, his heart impossibly full. Odd, how not too long ago, Itachi had completely lost touch with his emotions. He’d even been proud of that fact, that so little could affect him. Now, here he was, in bed with Shisui, feeling thoroughly ravished and already looking forward to next time, gifting easy smiles and feeling soft and sentimental. _You’re ruining me_ , Itachi thought of him fondly. Everything Itachi had tried to be, he had accomplished. He had been a finely honed assassin, a death machine. Now what was he?

 _Better_ , he answered for himself. Three years with Shisui and ANBU had not dulled his skills nor his senses. Three years of concealing his affections had only increased his ability to hide his feelings and ambitions. Here, in this house, he could be whatever he wanted. It was only _because_ he could unwind with Shisui that he could bottle himself up so effectively.

“Alright,” Shisui declared, pushing himself up onto his elbows and picking his face up from where he had been hiding. His dark curls were in complete disarray, mussed and rakish. And, too, there was the smirk. His deep, dark eyes roved over Itachi once. Then, he climbed over Itachi, dragging the sheet with him as he went. His eyes locked onto Itachi’s, pinning him with an intent and mischievous stare. Without once looking away, his fingers slid over Itachi’s, and he tugged the book out of his hands and tossed it aside. There was the sad crinkle of pages as it found a place on the floor, but Itachi was too enraptured by Shisui’s eyes to bother watching its tragic fate. His eyes fell upon Itachi’s lips. “So. Take care of me, then.”

Itachi’s eyes closed at the heathen words, pierced through by the command that was more permission than anything. Shisui’s lips alighted upon his a moment later. Feather-soft, passive, encouraging. Itachi smiled when he understood; Shisui had relinquished control. “You mean it?” Itachi asked against his lips.

“Mm. I mean it. You started the day with coffee. I’m inclined to trust you. A man that starts a day with coffee knows what he’s doing. My life is in your hands.”

Silently, he made a note to start every single day with coffee. “Duly noted. So, then the rules...?”

Shisui nipped his lip. “Fuck ‘em. It’s your birthday. New rule: Itachi does whatever he wants on his birthday. I think I can handle giving you the reins one day in 365.”

“I do like the sound of that,” Itachi purred. “Shisui.” Shisui nipped his lip again. “Shisui, Shisui, Shisui,” he chanted.

Shisui leaned back a fraction so he could look him in the eyes. The look upon his face was curious. “I give you complete control and the first thing you do with it is play with my name?”

Itachi sighed happily. “I like the way it feels to say it,” he confessed. “And it’s special to me.”

Shisui went quiet. The crease in his brow was back. That wasn’t right though; Shisui was awake. That concerned frown didn’t belong on his face anymore. “Did I say something wrong?” Itachi inquired, feeling a measure of concern himself.

“No,” Shisui whispered, his voice tight. “No, Itachi, what you said was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m… different, you know. All of my life, I’ve felt out of place, awkward, sometimes even evil. Some of the people I’ve brought here…” He bit his bottom lip. “They’re scared of me. And the worst part is that I know they’re scared. But part of me hates them and doesn’t care. And then I feel like I deserve the fear. I’ve longed for death, even courted it. When I knew the true nature of what I wanted from you, I hated myself for it. I fought it. But eventually I accepted it. Either I would die or I would have you. Those were the only options.” He smiled then. Itachi was glad to see it. “I don’t want to die anymore.”

“That’s good,” he breathed.

“Do you like… all of this?” he asked uncertainly.

Itachi wanted to give him an honest answer, so he took a minute to compose his thoughts. “At first…” he began. “At first, I thought this would be something I’d just have to endure. Get used to. But… the fear is exciting. Not knowing what’s coming from one moment to the next moment is the highest thrill. I know you won’t hurt me. Not really. The different ways it hurts are fascinating. And…” He thought about that strange flying-away feeling. “At the end there, I think I got lost.” He shut his eyes and drifted off to remember that properly. “Ahh, it was _wonderful_ , too. I loved every minute.”

“Are these my pants?” Itachi’s eyes blinked open, surprised by the change of the location of his voice. It was lower, further down. He didn’t have long to wonder about it. “Cute,” Shisui said, shrouded in white sheet, though Itachi could still imagine that smirk upon his face, hear the amusement dripping from the tone. The pants were tugged off.

“What are you--?” The question died on his lips when Shisui’s mouth closed over his shaft. A needy sound rumbled in his throat, and his head banged against the headboard. “Oh.” His eyes rolled back in his head, every coherent thought completely gone. Shisui possessed far more skill than Itachi had. He was hard within seconds, and Shisui’s tongue was _magic_. From beneath the sheet came the sounds of sucking and smacking lips, and Shisui moaned with his cock in his mouth. It was the hottest thing he’d ever heard in his lifetime. _If this is sin, I will gladly welcome hell._ “Shisui… Shisui…” he kept saying. Today was going to be a good day.

 


	15. Best Behavior

* * *

_“But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.” –Anne Bronte_

* * *

 

“Usually I don’t do anything before coffee,” Shisui yawned as he dressed. “But then again, you’re the exception to all kinds of personal rules.”

That piqued Itachi’s interest. “What kinds of personal rules?”

Shisui tugged a sleeveless black shirt over his head and shrugged. “Out of bed before noon. Sex before coffee. Dating an Uchiha. Back in ANBU. Giving up control…”

Two things stuck out further than the others. “You were in ANBU before?”

“Yep,” he threw over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. “I left it.”

“Why?” Itachi inquired as he followed him out.

“Liked it too much,” Shisui admitted. “Made a bit of a mess sometimes. Made the others uncomfortable.”

Itachi remembered the incident in Clay Country. If he hadn’t have been captured, then none of it would have happened, but… Shisui was exceedingly dangerous, that much was obvious. Though they had never discussed it explicitly, Itachi _knew_ Shisui, better than anyone now. He couldn’t shake the gut feeling that Shisui had actually killed the prisoners and their teammates and burned the place down to hide the evidence. No survivors meant no wagging tongues. Shisui had broken all kinds of laws the night he had tortured a target that was supposed to be implicated and brought to justice. Konoha didn’t condone such things. The fact that Shisui had not been arrested--that the interrogation hadn’t lasted but for an hour or so--testified to his crime.

The smile that Shisui reserved only for him, the softness of his lips… _oh yes_. Shisui had failed a mission on purpose to protect him. Had actually murdered innocents so that Itachi might not die. The thought abhorred Itachi, but at the same time, he forgave his cousin out of hand. Shisui had only fallen upon the skills and experience that he had to ensure Itachi made it out of there alive and sane. “I love you,” he found himself saying as he placed a cup of coffee in front of Shisui.

Shisui lifted the cup to his nose and inhaled. It was easy to forget the untold dangers coiled inside Shisui when he was like this. The small grateful smile upon his face was benign and almost too sweet. The quiet sigh that escaped from between his lips, disturbing the wisps of steam that rose from above the rim of the mug, deceptively gentle. Lounging back in his chair and cradling a cup of coffee as if it were the most precious treasure on this planet, Shisui appeared domesticated, a deadly panther with a jeweled collar. _And mine, all mine_ , Itachi remembered with a smile. But it wasn’t until that first sip of coffee rolled around inside his mouth and his eyelids fluttered back open, human again, that Shisui returned his sentiment. “And I love you, too.” And then, because it was always hard for him to appear serious for too long, his lips quirked. “But only because you made me coffee.”

So Itachi asked the second question. “So, we’re dating now?” He willed his face carefully neutral. This was a conversation that was long overdue, fraught with pitfalls, most of them with the surname Uchiha.

Shisui leaned back, hugging his mug while Itachi emulated his father against the counter, arms crossed. No coffee for him; he’d never liked the stuff, but he was aware that people who did were pretty serious about it. Shisui lived alone. One man in a house with a coffee pot, sleeping in past noon. Itachi wasn’t an idiot;  coffee was made. “Do you need me to say it?” Shisui asked, toying his fingertip around the rim.

“I need you to say it,” Itachi confirmed.

His lips twitched downward. “'Relationship' isn’t a word strong enough for this, Itachi,” Shisui said quietly. “I’ve had those before. _Relationships_ are two people trying to determine if they’re content to be stuck with each other forever. Two people together who hold fast to their secrets and only offer one up when it seems the other might be lost. It sucks. In time you start to get pissed off for no reason. Like, ‘why do you snore? Do you _have_ to go on a mission today?’” His voice grew bitter.

“And us?” Itachi pressed.

His smile flashed back, bright white beneath the shadows of his downcast eyes. “Do you care if I snore, or go on missions?”

 _I don’t even care if you kill me,_ he almost said, and therein lay the difference. Itachi understood. “Not particularly,” he answered wryly.

“Exactly,” he said, echoing Itachi’s thoughts. “You know… I’ve never told anyone that I loved them, before. Girls hate that, actually, when you don’t tell them that. But it was never the truth, so I didn’t. It seems so stupid to me that they’d ask me to lie.”

That pleased him. For a long time now, the name ‘Nanami’ brought him a twinge of grief. Knowing that his score was higher made him perversely gleeful. He would never mention her again. He’d won, she was gone, and nothing else mattered. Shisui was watching him, probably guessing at his thoughts again. “Shisui,” Itachi began. He wished he didn’t feel the need to have this conversation on his birthday, but it felt right to bring up now. “They’re never going to stand for this.”

He didn’t need to name _them_. They knew. Uchiha relationships prioritized passing down their precious Sharingan. Fugaku and Mikoto had even been an arranged match. Fugaku possessed a powerful Sharingan and Mikoto’s bloodline was strong. Their entire marriage had been founded on the principle that they would breed strong Sharingan users, and Itachi and Fugaku were numbers two and three in the Clan’s top five. Sasuke would likely secure a place there someday, too.

Shisui was number one.

Furthermore, Itachi was Fugaku’s heir. There were certain _expectations_ , one major one that involved fancy attire and a grandiose ceremony that ended with him lashed to a woman he didn’t love. For most of the past three years, they had had a silent understanding not to speak of this topic, but now that they’d tasted each other and shared a bed, it seemed important. Itachi wasn’t going to let Shisui go, and Shisui had already proven that he’d kill a _lot_ of people on Itachi’s behalf. Defining the nature of how this situation was to be handled when two overpowered deadly ninja hung in the balance seemed like a matter of civil security now.

Shisui finished his coffee without a word, stood and set the cup down next to the coffee pot. For a moment, it looked as if he were thinking about a refill, but he sidestepped instead, standing in front of Itachi. He was still taller, but the added level of severity lodged in his dark eyes tugged at Itachi’s heart. Shisui stepped closer, caged him in with his body. “I don’t care.”

Itachi was worried he was going to say that. It wasn’t a good enough answer. “But—“ His words were cut off when Shisui kissed him again. For as long as they were locked, Itachi didn’t care, either. The moment he retreated though, Itachi remembered their deal today. “ _I_ care,” Itachi retorted.

Shisui sighed, his head hanging. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Shisui retreated, refilled his cup, and sat back down at the table, staring into his coffee. What he saw in there besides murkiness, Itachi hadn’t a clue. But this conversation was happening, one way or another. “We’re not going to be able to keep this secret forever.”

“That’s exactly what we must do,” Shisui countered, sounding miserable.

“They’ll expect us both to—“

“I _know_ what they’ll expect. Why do you think I’ve had girlfriends?”

 _Oh_. Itachi hadn’t considered that. “So… Nanami…”

 _“Yes._ And the two before that. Pretty and sweet until I ruined them. That’s how I deal with the problem. What’s your plan?” His face was twisted with pain as he glared at Itachi.

‘The problem,’ he’d said. Yes, that’s what it was, but Itachi couldn’t deal with it in Shisui’s way. He’d have to come up with a method that worked better for him. “I see,” he muttered, thinking about it.

“Mm,” Shisui assented, sipping coffee. “Obviously, no one can find out, but we already have that part figured out. The rest of our lives is about batting off the women thrown at us. We’re lucky, though. I don’t have parents to pressure me and you have a little brother to take your place. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t an answer, but only for the reason that they did not have one. In short order, the two of them had breakfast, Shisui finished his pot of coffee, and they were engaged in friendly conversation. It felt so… normal. Issue arisen and shunted off for another day and a revisitation, breakfast made and eaten, dishes cleared and into the sink.

It lasted up until the moment that Shisui’s lips nipped at his ear lobe while he was cleaning. Itachi exercised his right to control. “Stop,” he ordered.

“Don’t want to,” Shisui denied, dropping his chin to Itachi’s shoulder and wrapping himself around.

It was definitely not conducive to cleaning dishes, and although Shisui’s body felt quite nice, Itachi needed to set boundaries about when was and was not a good time to interrupt him. “I’m still cleaning up after breakfast,” Itachi complained mildly, allowing his power to churn and coil, preparing for a genial domestic battle.

“It can wait,” Shisui grumbled. “You have all day.”

Itachi’s hands stopped in the motions of cloth around the edge of a plate. He gently set the plate back into the sink and twisted against the sink counter. Shisui’s expression was puppy-like, thinking he’d won. His grin was bright and sunny, eyes twinkling with mischief. Itachi crossed his arms and stared at him. Shisui ignored the warning and leaned in for a kiss. When he was mere inches from Itachi’s lips, Itachi said, very firmly, “Corner.”

Shisui froze in his journey towards passionate kisses. His eyelashes flickered open, judging the seriousness in Itachi’s stare. He looked confused, if Itachi was honest. His mouth puckered into a pout a moment later, eyes glazing over with a measure of sullen reprimand. “Itachi…” he whined, sounding all of twelve.

“My way today. I said I’d take care of you and you’re interrupting my task.” He jerked his head in the direction of any random corner of the house. “Off you go. And stay there until I’m finished with the dishes.”

He pouted something fierce. He put every ounce of his soul and his charm into that pout, but Itachi was a trained shinobi, and even if he wanted to surrender to the power of Shisui’s best pouty face, he would not allow that to show on his guise. Every moment of his interactions with Shisui was a kind of delicate game, the height of shinobi manipulation. Every emotion, every gesture, every jaw tick and eye twitch told a story. Right now, Itachi had control of the day, and he was guiding the tiller of the game. If he relinquished that control or allowed Shisui to change the flow of control, Itachi would lose. And Shisui, being brilliant, would seek to use Itachi’s affections for him to get him to slip. Crafty bastard.

In the end, though, Shisui went, but not before shedding his clothes. He threw him eyes over his shoulder as an invitation. Then, slowly and deliberately, he placed his hands upon his head and lowered himself to his knees facing into the corner of the living room. That, too, was clever. Now Itachi would be forced to stare upon all of those glorious back muscles every time he chose to glance over to make sure Shisui was still obeying. He could order him to put something on, but that would only serve to tell Shisui that he was affecting him.

When Shisui had shut him out, he had ignored him. That would serve nicely here. So, instead of humoring Shisui with furtive glances at the delectable curves of hardened, cruel muscle, Itachi hummed himself a melody as he took an agonizingly slow time completing the dishes. He could practically feel the caress of Shisui’s eyes upon him, the sizzling atmosphere of frustration. He knew too well that Shisui despised giving up his precious control, that he was impulsive and impetuous. The longer he made him wait, the more crazed he would become.

Which was, of course, exactly what Itachi wanted.

The moment he was finished hanging the towel over the back of the chair, Shisui suddenly appeared in front of him. _Shunshin_. He hip-checked him, bumped him into the counter, curved his hands roughly about Itachi’s face and kissed him fiercely. “Mm-mm,” Itachi rejected, pushing him away.

Shisui bit his lips so hard that they reddened from the abuse. His pupils were blown out as his head cocked to the side as if to say, _really_?

“It’s too fun to toy with you,” Itachi teased. “Now kiss me nicely.” He tapped his lips with his finger and leaned forward.

Shisui blinked, smiled briefly and dipped in as he was commanded. He latched on gently to Itachi’s lower lip, all softness and patience and asking, rather than demanding. “Good boy,” Itachi commended.


	16. Dangerous Games

* * *

_“It’s enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.” --Gabriel Garcia Marquez_

* * *

 

Over time, the Hokage had given them special clearance to run a two-man ANBU squad. That, Itachi attributed to their incredibly high success rate and the low numbers in ANBU. If two men could accomplish the same tasks as four, why waste the man power? It worked out quite nicely for the two of them. They were able to travel alone together more often than not, and didn’t have to hide their feelings. For the first time in his life, Itachi was beginning to enjoy ANBU. They took on more missions than he would have in the past, and were gone from home more often than not.

A little over a year later found the two of them about as close to happy as they could be. The increase in ANBU missions made Shisui a less than desirable marriage prospect and Itachi wasn’t home often enough to make a fuss about it. He stayed at Shisui’s house frequently due to convenience; his house was on the outer edge of their compound and they often departed and arrived at odd hours. Dropping by his family’s house at 4 a.m. disrupted everyone, and he didn’t want to chance waking anyone up.

Today was an exception, though. Their mission had been a relatively easy one and they’d finished early. And, since neither of them had any blood on their uniforms, it was a good day to chance the wrath of Uchiha Mikoto and spend some time with his family. It was one of those rare days when everyone was off of work. A good day for family bonding. “I’m home!” Itachi called as he entered, Shisui a moment behind him. They shed their boots and their armor; that was a rule in this home. No ANBU armor when it was family time. It was Mikoto’s wish that they would unwind and relax and leave their responsibilities and their missions right where they belonged.

“Well, this is a surprise!” his mother declared as she looked up from her book, tucking a tendril of dark hair behind one ear. “We figured you wouldn’t be back until late evening. Hello, Shisui-kun.”

“Good afternoon, auntie,” Shisui greeted with his usual smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. “We finished up early so we came straight here.”

“I’ll make tea, then,” she announced.

“No,” Fugaku said from the doorway, the semblance of a smile playing at his lips. “You sit right back down and chat with your nephew and our son, and I’ll make the tea.”

Mikoto looked like she wanted to argue, but apparently she wanted to chat more. After a short battle of stares, she sat right back down upon her chair, hands folded and demure. “I feel as if I never see you anymore,” his mother chattered on. “How are you doing?”

“Busy, mostly. We’ve had a lot of missions,” Itachi replied.

“Shisui-kun, is my son taking care of himself?” Mikoto asked, turning to his cousin.

Shisui grinned and held up his hands in surrender. “Mostly. He doesn’t always sleep well.”

Itachi endured it with polite grace. Shisui liked to play this game where he told the truth and yet didn’t. There was a reason that Itachi didn’t always sleep well, and usually it involved Shisui keeping him awake. This was one of the perverse delights he was allowed, however, to keep his demons at bay. Playing clever mind games that hid the nature of their relationship in plain sight was his favorite pasttime. It was easy to get him to stop by Itachi’s house, even if he didn’t usually appreciate the social scene. Faking it exhausted them both. So he acted, placing the sheepish, apologetic grin on his face that he knew his mother wanted. “I have nightmares, sometimes.”

The fierce glare of his mother subsided. The nightmares, at least, were true. The nightmares would be constant. There were things he had done in ANBU that would always haunt him. It was getting easier, though. Shisui usually stole the kills from him so that the blood was never on his hands. He would never put into words how grateful he was for that, not because he felt like a coward, but because he found it disconcerting to thank anyone for killing a person.

“Are you here for the rest of today, then?” his father asked as he joined them with the tea.

“Yes,” he answered. “I don’t have another mission for several days unless something important comes up.”

“Good,” he said. He reached to pour the tea but apparently Mikoto had other ideas. He might have shanghaied making the tea, but he sure wasn’t going to pour it for her, too. With a silent lovers’ quarrel, she silenced him with a glare, he accepted with a wry smirk, and the tea was poured.

“Maybe you’ll get to catch up on your sleep,” his mother offered.

“I doubt it,” his father supplied. “Now that you’re back Sasuke will probably be hounding you for training.”

“When’s he getting back?”

“A couple of hours, probably. He usually stays for a while after school to practice,” his father answered.

“You should probably have a nap, Itachi,” his mother told him severely.

Some things would never change, he mused affectionately. He was seventeen, an elite Shinobi and already independent. And yet, his mother would always see fit to force her advice upon him no matter what. And, judging by the serious look in her eyes, she was willing to fight him for his nap on pain of death. Even when she was not a kunoichi back on the duty roster, she had been this way. He glanced at Shisui, wondering how he was supposed to entertain himself while Itachi went and lamely lay down. “Don’t you worry about him,” Mikoto told him. “Shisui-kun and I will have plenty to talk about.”

Itachi wondered if he should be worried, but there was no stopping his mother when she was in a mood. With a regretful glance at Shisui—who would probably end up helping with chores—Itachi excused himself. “I’ll see you all at dinner then. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to sleep. It is rare these days.” He cast a hidden sidelong gaze at his cousin, playing his game, admitting to the sleep deprivation. There was a flare of irritation, just the gentlest of pokes, and then Itachi was off. He’d pay for that infraction, though he was rather counting on it.

He shed his clothes and slid in between the sheets, then loosed a deep sigh and attempted to relax. It was weird, attempting to sleep in his own bed. He was so used to the hard ground, Shisui’s warm presence, or the mattress in Shisui’s house. Trying to sleep here for a number of reasons was simply not happening. Shisui wasn’t there. The bed was too cold. The mattress was too soft. The location felt alien and unfamiliar. Despite closing his eyes and trying to slow his breathing, there was no way Itachi was going to be able to sleep. He felt the minutes slide by futilely. At least he was resting, though. His mind, his breathing, his body all slowed. Rest was better than nothing.

He didn’t hear the door open and shut, but then again, Shisui was the stealthiest ninja in Konoha. He only had time to feel the depression in his mattress as Shisui clambered over him and pinned him to the bed with his chest and his lips. Panic assailed Itachi. They couldn’t do this, not here. His parents were home. Sasuke could be back at any time. The danger of being found out was radically high. His door didn’t even have a lock on it; none of theirs did. “Sir,” he whispered, alarmed. “We can’t—“

“Shhh,” Shisui whispered back. “They’ll hear you.”

“Not here,” he told him through gritted teeth.

Shisui’s eyes narrowed, beautiful and dangerous, glittering with lust. “Since when do you tell me what to do? It’s not your birthday.”

Itachi’s heart pounded in his chest as Shisui’s hands traveled up his arms, pinning them to the pillow. His mouth found Itachi’s neck moments later, though he kept a tight lid on the groan that wanted to escape. Of course, that was the game; Shisui would visit all sorts of wicked delights upon his body, and the challenge was not to make a sound and alert his family of what was happening in this room. And, lest he forget, the door had no lock on it--no locks in Fugaku's house--Shisui had disappeared from where he was being entertained by Itachi’s parents, and Itachi had been in here napping long enough. Sasuke could be home at any moment.

It was at that point that Itachi realized that his role in this game was not solely to be silent, but to make sure that this was over as quickly as possible. He raked fingers through Shisui’s hair and loosed a heavy breath, surrendering. Shisui caught on immediately. “Good boy.”

“Just hurry,” he begged.

“Oh. Suuuure,” he purred, nipping trails. “Come here, then.” He rolled over on the narrow mattress and propped his back up against the headboard.

Itachi didn’t waste any time. Quickly, quickly, he told himself, diving beneath the sheets. His heart was still pounding, terrified of being found out. Shisui was already ready, so he jerked the waistband of his pants down and took him in his mouth, pouring every ounce of skill he had attained into the swirl of his tongue. He heard the shaky exhalation of his lover beyond the veil, a low groan. _Shut up, Shisui_ , he pleaded silently. Both of them knew very well that Itachi stood to fall further than Shisui did if they were ever discovered. Shisui had no family left except them; he was already a man apart. Itachi could lose everyone and everything, and being separated from Sasuke would break his heart.

Finally, blessedly, Shisui dragged him up, pulling him close for a heartfelt kiss, squeezing and kneading his buttocks. “Position,” he growled then, retrieving the small canister disguised as healing ointment from his pocket. Itachi’s face grew hot, feeling at once excited and scared. The danger was so real, and there was no way they would ever be able to explain away Shisui buried to the hilt in Itachi’s rear end. Despite that, he could never deny Shisui anything, and he did as he was told. Shisui pushed in easily, greased by the substance in the secret can he carried with him, a slippery ointment that Itachi had been glad Shisui had miraculously discovered. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out; this didn’t hurt anymore, rather felt absolutely amazing, and paired with the pent up thrill in the ventricles of his heart, Itachi was sure that he was about to sing.

He didn’t though. He bit his lip mercilessly, holding in the shouts he needed to emit. Shisui pounded away behind him, less successful at maintaining an appropriate volume. Rhythmic grunts accompanied every long, deep, thrust. All the while, Itachi begged him to please, “Shh, shh, shh.”

Then there was a knock on the door. Both of them froze. “Itachi?” his father’s voice asked from the other side of the door. “You still asleep?”

Itachi’s blood pounded so violently he thought for sure he was about to pass out. He took several deep breaths, opened his mouth to speak, and clamped his teeth shut again as Shisui moved in and out slowly. Itachi was angry that he would do such a thing, make it this difficult on him for his sick games.

It took him several moments to compose himself until the knock came again. “Itachi?” The door knob turned.

“I’ll be down in a minute, oto-san. Please give me my privacy.”

“Alright. Your brother’s home.”

He couldn’t resist. “And Shisui-kun?” He was impaled by a particularly vicious thrust then, for he had dared to find a loophole in the no names rule.

“He had to run home for a minute. He said he’d be back by dinner.”

“I see. Thanks.” As the footsteps died down the hallway, Shisui’s pace picked back up. “I hate you, I hate you,” Itachi repeated, muffled by a pillow.

“You fucking love it,” Shisui insisted, the obscene slapping of flesh upon flesh sounding far too loud to Itachi’s ears.

And Itachi shoved his face deeper into the pillow and screamed because, to his shame, he definitely did.

The moment it was over, Itachi rolled off the bed and tugged on a shirt. He cleaned up as best he could, threw on a fresh pair of pants, and made his way to the bathroom to finish cleaning up. Meanwhile, Shisui slipped into the hallway and disappeared. Itachi heard the sounds of greeting a minute later as his family welcome Shisui back from having left, apparently. He heard his brother’s voice in the mix, and above it all, Shisui’s laughter, though only he knew the real reason that he laughed. The game they had played was more dangerous than any ANBU mission, and Shisui lapped it up.

In the secrecy of the bathroom, Itachi smiled. He thought he didn’t have the heart to play Shisui’s games, but inwardly, he was enjoying it just as much. Being frightened was cathartic. When the terror had passed, in the darkness of his room in the bed he’d slept upon as a child cradled in the arms of madness, Itachi found perfect solace. Being a shinobi was fraught with secrets; this was only another one, more dangerous than the rest, but with so much more at stake. Living a lie as large as this one was to be truly alive, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Still, though, it was a relief when his father suggested that he think about moving out. His mother didn’t look happy about it. Shisui’s face remained carefully passive. Sasuke scowled, but Fugaku looked like he thought it was a brilliant idea. “You hardly even sleep here anymore, and I know you must be feeling as if you’re obligated to stop by like this.” He was nodding to himself. Clearly he’d been thinking it for a long time. “You’re seventeen. You should be on your own.”

“You’re sure? “ he asked, looking at his mother.

“He can stay with me,” Shisui offered placidly.

Strangely enough, that seemed to comfort his mother. Itachi wondered what, exactly, they had discussed while he was ‘napping.’ Shisui had clearly charmed his mother. “That’s very sweet of you to offer, Shisui-kun. I would feel much better if Itachi was not completely alone.”

“Can I go, too?” Sasuke asked.

“No,” all four of them said at once.

Sasuke shrank back in his chair, sullen. “Well that’s hardly fair. I never get to see him as it is.” He poked around on his plate, pouting.

“You’ve got enough going on with school,” his mother reminded him severely. “And I’ve told you time and again that your father can help you with your training. If he’s not good enough for you then go without.”

“But—“

“Oto-san’s very skilled,” Itachi reminded him. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

He groaned and hung his head unhappily. Itachi was glad that they could sit like this, so perfectly at ease. He could almost pretend that Shisui belonged there, too, even caught his wink from across the table. It was never to be, but so long as they could maintain the façade in public, they could have moments like this that felt real.


	17. Fatal Errors

* * *

_“Give yourself permission to immediately walk away from anything that gives you bad vibes. There is no need to explain or make sense of it. Trust what you feel.”_

* * *

 

“There’s something wrong with this mission,” Shisui told him casually. He tipped his head back, the left side of his face brushing Itachi’s left side. They sat back to back upon a huge rock, discussing options.

“I agree,” Itachi replied. Long years of working together had negated the need for long-winded explanation. _Everything_ was wrong with this mission. The Land of Feathers had sent far too many delegates for a discussion of a peace treaty, and the leader among them was a very pretty woman who was not their daimyo or in any way related to the daimyo. She had not deigned to reveal who she was in relation to the Land of Feathers, in fact, though she and the other Shinobi with her all bore the sigil upon their brow.

“They’re going to try to kill us.”

“Yep.”

He felt the twitch of a grin against his face. “Good. Haven’t had a good fight in months.” Itachi opened his mouth to argue. “ _You_ don’t count,” Shisui cut him off, then delivered a quick kiss. “I enjoy fighting you too much.”

“You enjoy fighting, period,” Itachi grumbled affectionately, hiding his smile as he looked away.

“It’d be stupid to argue with that,” Shisui relented. “So. What are we going to do, _captain_?”

Itachi smiled wryly. “We both know I’m never the captain.”

Shisui laughed, rich and full of humor. “No, you certainly aren’t. But you could have fooled _her_.”

He didn’t argue because it was true. Every time they ran these two man missions, their enemies made the same fatal mistake, over and over again. They mistakenly assumed that Itachi was the one to be feared. His face was known to most, his successes common knowledge. Furthermore, Itachi had the cool detachment that most Shinobi aspired to, the ability to turn off his emotions and plaster cold indifference upon his face. Turning off the conduit of feelings came as naturally as breathing now. Time with Shisui, time hiding their relationship, had only increased that. He could see it in their faces when they looked at him, the _malaise_. Uchiha Itachi appeared to be everything a Shinobi should be.

They kept trying to look past him at his smiling friend, the man they did not recognize, a danger that none had lived long enough to record. They did not understand that Shisui had mastered his mind and body in different ways. They failed to notice the easy grace that kept Shisui on his toes, or the shrewd, calculating eyes that watched their every move from the peripheral of apparent boredom. They looked to Shisui hoping that Shisui would save them. They didn’t know that the only one capable of saving their sorry asses was Itachi, and whether or not Itachi felt they deserved to die. Shisui's preference was to kill them all, and kill them messily, then clean up after.

Shisui’s head lolled back, his happy smile filling Itachi’s heart with glee. ANBU had been good for them both. “So we kill them,” he drawled out, closing his eyes as if remembering a distant memory or dreaming of making new ones.

“You always say that,” Itachi chastised.

His lips fluttered over Itachi’s pulse as he spoke, voice low and seductive, seeking as always to get his way. “Well. Technically it wouldn’t be a failure.”

Of course, he was right again. The mission report had said to make contact with the Land of Feathers, gauge their trustworthiness, and either accept their submission to Konoha or eliminate the threat. In cases like this, though, Itachi preferred to try to give them that chance, provide that moment of panic when they could realize they were outclassed and change their minds at the last moment, bend their will to that of Konoha instead of foolishly attack. Any boon they could gain for the village was a bonus. Of course, Shisui didn’t care about any of that. A threat was a threat was a threat. If they wanted to kill them now, they’d want to kill them later, and no amount of sugar coating would change it. Itachi allowed it because he wasn’t sure which method was more correct, as both of their methods seemed to work better from time to time. That was why sometimes Shisui would ask Itachi what they should do and sometimes he just outright killed them.

Itachi leaned over and brushed his lips against Shisui’s. “My way, this time, I think.”

Shisui sighed, disappointed. “It’s because she’s a woman, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Remind me of this moment when she tries to murder you, okay? I think there’s a lot of fun punishment tied into this moment.”

“Can’t wait,” Itachi teased.

Shisui nipped his chin. “Me neither. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go then,” he sighed, standing. “The faster we get this over with, the faster we can get home and I can show you what ‘I told you so’ means.” He reached down and hauled Itachi to his feet, and the dynamic duo was off again to save the world. That was how it felt, anyway, running ANBU missions with Shisui. They made it seem so effortless when they worked together, like the bonus reel of the main adventure of Itachi and Shisui. It was a constant cycle of accept mission, long journey, short, definitive climax, home before dinner time.

Feather Lass was an idiot, as it turned out. She didn’t bring her delegates with her to the final meeting. That immediately told the two Uchiha that they were hiding, waiting for a time to ambush. Amateur. Shisui remained idiotically blithe, hands in his pockets. They had their masks but weren’t wearing them. This was a test of trust, after all, and it wouldn’t do for them to go in with their masks up. However, that meant that if the trust exercise failed, they definitely all needed to die, and there would be no room for hesitation.

“Your solitary presence seems to indicate a measure of trust,” Itachi lied to her, appearing completely at ease. “Does this mean that I can tell the Hokage that the Land of Feathers is a new ally and expect your first tithe at the harvest moon?”

“Like hell you can,” she snarled, flinging her fingers into the air. It was the signal they’d been waiting for, and the eight Shinobi burst from the underbrush. They weren’t… _poorly_ trained, but they weren’t Itachi and Shisui. Their first assault was a trap of shuriken, expertly aimed at the center and the two Konoha Shinobi that stood there.

Shisui blurred away, a nightmare dispelled, throwing the enemy into a state of confusion as Itachi’s form broke into a murder of crows. The real Itachi activated the Sharingan, sparing only a moment’s glance to determine Shisui’s location, though it was constantly changing, and then he became a hurricane of shuriken. A couple of their number went down as the woman backed up away from the fray, one hand over her nauseous belly, terrified. Three of them huddled around Shisui, but his cousin could handle himself, so Itachi focused on the last three.

The largest of the three charged toward him, a juggernaut, meant to unbalance and overpower. Such a person had his place in a fighting arrangement, but could never hope to outclass stealth and agility. Itachi used his shoulders as a springboard, finding a height advantage and unleashing a rain of shuriken, hiding shadow shuriken amongst their number so that they could not hope to avoid them all. Being airborne was a vulnerability, however, and his enemy took full advantage. An impossible, inevitable number of weapons bloomed from below; He managed to evade most of them, but felt the full force of a kunai pierce through the vulnerable part of his armor, burying deep into his right shoulder, several shuriken finding similar residence in his arms and legs. Pain was no object, though, not to Uchiha Itachi. Similar wounds were inflicted upon him by the attentive hands of love. They would not faze him when used against him in battle, either.

The mission objective had transformed into a death sentence the moment the woman from the Land of Feathers had given the signal, and Itachi could not afford to be merciful now. He tore out the weapons embedded in his limbs but left the kunai; it was deeper, would bleed dangerously if he extracted it. The blade limited the use of his right hand, but his left was just as effective anyhow. It would be less terrible if he never looked at their faces, he knew this from experience, but he was never able to tear his eyes away anyway. Remembering their faces was his self-imposed penance, no matter how healthy or unhealthy it was.

Shisui, however, never allowed him that luxury. Itachi’s shuriken all found their marks, but the targets only doubled over in pain, incapacitated but not dead. It was Shisui’s swift efficiency with his tanto that ended their lives, sprays of crimson painting the grass. They’d been working together for the better part of five years, and Itachi had yet to witness anyone best Shisui’s teleportation. He wasn’t even sure that _he_ could. Eight dead Shinobi and a blur of color later, and Shisui had the woman who had ordered the attack pinned against her tree, weeping. Itachi sauntered over, wondering if it was possible to spare her for questioning. Shisui had apparently had the same idea. With her hands pinned above her head, he turned over his shoulder to look at Itachi, licking the spatters of blood off of his lips. “What do you think, captain? Does she live or die?” His red flecked smile was inappropriate, too chipper amidst the macabre scene, a solitary posy blossom in a field of ashes. It was always thus, but that was the way that it was.

“Please,” she begged miserably, tears running down her chin. “Don’t. I’m married, pregnant with our first child.”

Shisui’s eyes widened slightly and Itachi knew his must look the same. They’d never had to kill a pregnant woman before. Oddly enough, her heartfelt plea had even reached Itachi’s nightmarish lover. They stared at each other, stricken and unsure. This was something from which Itachi would not be able to recover, and it gave even Shisui pause.

That was her intention all along, though. It was only because Itachi had the forward view that he could see the jerk of the woman’s knee, the pale flash of a blade. He had even less time to call out to Shisui that there was a mistake made. He didn’t think, merely jerked the kunai from his shoulder and threw it desperately, nailing her rising foot to the tree. She shrieked in anger and pain, writhing against the trunk of the tree.

Shisui looked down, eyes wide, but it only took that second for him to register what had happened. He tightened his grip on his tanto and rammed it into her belly. Unborn child or not, she had forfeited her right to be alive. Itachi knew better than to shut his eyes; Shisui always made him watch them die. It was part of their deal. These kills were still Itachi’s responsibility, even if Shisui wielded the blade. He would kill them but Itachi couldn’t get off completely, so he fixated his gaze upon her face and the look of surprise. Shisui leaned in closer, close enough to kiss her if he chose, watching the light go out. “Shh,” he hushed, twisting the blade and eliciting a strangled squeak and more glistening tears. “It will be over soon.” Her breathing came in gasps, disbelieving, slowing, until finally, she slouched over, her body gone limp.

Shisui let her tip forward, held comically in place by the kunai through her foot. “Don’t feel bad,” Shisui told him quickly, knowing that he would suffer. “Probably she was lying to save her own skin.”

 _Probably_ , Itachi told himself. _Probably, probably, probably._ He kept telling himself that until it was acceptable, but even then he knew that this moment would haunt him.

More importantly, now that the panic of that moment had passed, Itachi was assaulted with a barrage of nerves and panic. He crumpled to the ground, clutching at the wound in his shoulder, doubled over with gut wrenching nerves. Shisui had almost _died_.

_He’d almost died._

“You almost died,” he choked out, a knot constricting his throat. Every muscle in his body tightened; his abdomen, coiled tightly with the nausea of fear, his arms, hugging himself, and his eyes, screwed shut, trying to forget how terrible it had been.

“Huh,” Shisui mused, seemingly surprised himself. “I did, didn’t I?”

There was a long, suspended moment where the implications of what _had_ happened and what had _almost_ happened remained between them like a ghost. Itachi was unbalanced by just how close he had come to losing Shisui. Meanwhile, Shisui was realizing that Itachi had just saved his life. They were silent for several minutes.

Then, Shisui’s boot carefully tilted Itachi’s chin up from where his face hung low. Shisui tipped him backward, then he covered Itachi’s body with his own, hands dragging Itachi’s up above his head, kissing him like it was his last day on this earth, as it almost had been. Itachi surrendered, overwhelmingly relieved that he was still alive to kiss him this way.

Then the world blinked out of existence, leaving the bloody bodies behind. Mission success, though neither of them cared anymore.

 


	18. Break Stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is my favorite chapter. Speak up if ye agree.

* * *

_“She said, ‘don’t get too close. It’s dark inside. It’s where my demons hide.’ And I said, ‘Get too close. There is a hell inside of me. It’s where your demons can live.”_

* * *

 

When the world right itself again, Itachi was pressed to the living room wall. His mind didn’t struggle to process how he’d gotten there. Shisui could move things, and quickly. They’d never used it to cheat to get home before, but that had never meant that he couldn’t. The important thing was that they were home. Shisui’s mouth consumed his, passionate kisses giving way to something hungrier, unrefined, commanding and desperate. Their mouths clashed, teeth gnashing, lips crushing, jawline crashing upon jawline. Itachi held on as if Shisui’s mouth was his anchor to existence, and Shisui claimed his soul from there.

Then, something unspoken and celestial _shifted_.

Suddenly, the clothes needed to be _off_. Armor squealed and clattered, tossed to the floor and immediately forgotten. Itachi cast aside his headband and tore out his hair tie, needing to be freed of them. They kicked off boots and sent them sailing, shed pants like they’d been training for it their whole lives, could not shrug out of their shirts quickly enough.

They crashed into each other again, skin hot, searing, burning like the Katon of the Uchiha--the clan's two brightest fires trying to out-scorch the other. The lines of their bodies melted into one another, every muscle tight and stretched by violence. Shisui pinned his arms above his head again, growling as his mouth fell to Itachi’s shoulder. The air around them was a symphony of sound, of panting breaths and rumbles of pleasure, throaty exhalations of encouragement. Shisui nipped, scraping teeth along his collarbone, sinking sharp incisors into the meat of his shoulder.

Itachi became a flash of pleasure with every bite, his knees losing their strength, surrendering against the wall as Shisui awakened every nerve. Itachi’s wrists tensed and resisted, crushed by Shisui’s grip, earning him harder bites and a snarl of command. He bit his own lip and drew blood, hissing from the intensity of it all, and Shisui’s mouth captured his abused lip and sucked hard. He groaned and bit back, and Shisui slammed his wrists against the wall with a guttural snarl.

It was at that point that loving Shisui became more like war. Every muscle fiber in his body vibrated with predation, tense with the heavy knowledge that they’d almost lost each other today. Itachi _needed_ to lash out, to bite, to claw, to fuck, to dominate. When Shisui racked his hands back against the wall, Itachi jerked them free. Shisui reached for them again, pressing his body against Itachi’s, against the wall. It was Itachi’s turn to snarl, and he grasped Shisui’s wrists, swapping them places, banging Shisui’s head against the wall, falling upon his neck like a feral beast, sinking teeth into tender, unspoiled flesh. Shisui hissed and pushed instinctively, and Itachi flew backwards.

They stared at each other for a suspended, tense moment, outwardly calmly assessing, inwardly a tempest of violent urges. Itachi read through the red glow of Shisui’s Sharingan that either or both of them was about to get torn apart. His own Sharingan blazed just as brightly, though. His doujutsu was not as refined as Shisui’s—for Shisui had the Mangekyou, and Itachi did not—but his will was just as strong. Shisui smirked, sensing the threat, the challenge, confidently tacitly accepting. Itachi’s frown deepened, became a determined, firm line.

They tangled, arms entwining, lips and teeth at war, blistering lips red, blossoming the first tentative buds of pain. Shisui grabbed fistfuls of Itachi’s hair and jerked his head painfully backward, latching teeth at the base of his throat. He could feel the tickle of lips and eyelashes while his scalp ached fiercely. He rumbled as he wrapped fingers around Shisui’s throat and threw his cousin to the couch in an eruption of pale limbs and the grunt of forced air. Itachi straddled him, tugging his hands over the back of the couch, grinding his hips into him and snapping his teeth.

With a surge of Shisui’s hips—and a painful bolt of desire—Itachi was thrown from his lap, and he crashed backward over the low table, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces. Shisui was down upon him instantly, crushing his throat in his hands, lips peeled back in a wild grin. Shards of broken glass ground into the sensitive skin of Itachi's back, but he was so lost to the red haze of lust—blood lust, blind lust, none of it mattered anymore—that it only added to the frantic stirring of sensations. His body arched of its own accord, pulling groans from both of their throats, and Shisui stole another kiss while Itachi fought the hands at his throat.

Itachi bit down on Shisui’s lips—hard—and Shisui’s grip tightened. Purple and gold spots bloomed in Itachi’s eyes, rolling back in his head as he succumbed to the ministrations of his master. Victorious lips mouthed their way up his neck, tongue lavishing along his chin as his head was wrenched sideways. A sound started in Itachi's throat like a low howl, muscles coiling, the will to fight rekindling. With a vicious whip crack of his body, he managed to flip Shisui over his head. The lower half of his body crashed into the side table and sent the lamp upon it and everything in it flying in broken pieces, though Shisui’s torso fell upon Itachi himself. They brawled, hands wrapped in shoulder, neck, and arm, eyes wild and rolling, more like beasts than men at all. Over and over they rolled until both of them were coated in bits of broken glass like rock sugar, slick with their own sweat and blood.

This tussle would not be finished until one of them emerged victorious over the other, fueled by an insatiable lust for life and for each other, roused by bloodletting and riled by tooth and claw. Shisui chose that moment to gouge his thumb into the wound on Itachi’s shoulder. Itachi roared, both from the pain and from animal wrath, the need for vengeance overriding all law. Itachi attacked him with a violent headbutt, and Shisui reeled, dazed. Itachi lifted him easily, hauled him to the kitchen table and dropped him upon it, face first. He held down the back of his head with one hand, raking long fingernails over uncharted, undamaged skin, licking his lips and thinking how badly Shisui’s blank canvas back needed to be painted.

His pupils dilated as the dark, simmering power within him welled up, possessing him. He didn’t dare question it, not right now. This was not the kind of power that one ought analyze, merely embrace or banish forever. Itachi was not a weakling, though, and he stared his darkness in the face and welcomed it willingly. He jammed his own finger into his shoulder wound then, tensing like a harp string at the singeing pang of agony that racked his body. Finger dripping with his own blood, he wrote his name on Shisui’s unmarred back, then bit his lip to admire it. Seeing blood. Tasting blood. _Perfect_.

Shisui wasn’t done yet, though. He managed to turn himself, pulled Itachi down on top of him, and twisted. The table could not support the weight of them both, though, and it collapsed beneath them. Splinters broke open Itachi’s palms, embedded themselves in Shisui’s arms and legs as well. They wrestled in the ruins of the kitchen table, desecrating the symbol of their domestication. Fingers gripped roughly, bruising tender skin, but Itachi was alive with adrenaline and pain was absolutely _nothing_. He was gone, gone, sailing on a wave of instinct and completely ruled by the war at hand, seemingly in slow motion.

Shisui gathered his second wind, then, rolling into a sideways crouch and hauling Itachi in a half moon arc out of the rubble and sending him careening to his feet. He shifted, using the Shunshin to appear in front of him. Itachi growled that he had cheated, but Shisui, all sly smile and victorious posture, shoved him backward over the back of the couch, tipping the thing over for the weight upon it, depositing Itachi upon the back of the couch that was now flush with the floor. Shisui wove a couple of hand signs, then his fingertips sizzled to life with violet chakra. This he pressed to Itachi’s abdomen, sending a brief but powerful shock through Itachi’s body. Itachi yelled out involuntarily, his body going rigid with electricity. “I was saving that,” Shisui snarled angrily.

Before he could prepare the same attack, though, Itachi managed to dodge just in time. The purple spark seared the cushions instead. There was the pungent odor of burning fabric and a black tendril of smoke before the cushion caught fire. Shisui frowned at that. A mistake. Itachi snagged the rope that Shisui had kept in the now-broken side table and knocked his cousin to the floor, driving his knee into his own name upon Shisui’s back, swiftly tying a knot about his wrists. “Damn you, Itachi,” he grumbled, struggling against the knot.

Itachi remained there, staring at the knot. He’d won. The knowledge of it seeped in slowly, the lesson of it resonating strongly. He stared down where his cousin lay subdued, breathing heavily, panting from exertion, slick all over with sweat and blood, both of theirs. Itachi chuckled, proud of himself. Shisui shook his head, surrendering. Only one thing left to do now. He stood up, walked over to where their clothes lay in a rumpled heap, and pulled out Shisui’s little can of lubricant. Shisui’s eyes registered red from across the room, narrowed dangerously. Unless he actually used the Sharingan though, they both knew that he was well and truly fucked. Defeating him by using the Sharingan was an unspoken cop out, though. Winning using the Mangekyou wasn’t really a win. He would still have lost.

For a moment, as Itachi sauntered over, he considered not going through with it. Shisui’s control over him was a beautiful thing, and he was loath to take that from him. However, the blood within him was singing, boiling, raging, humming with the thrill of the chase and the high of capture. He _needed_ to do this. Still, though, he hesitated. It was still Shisui, and he loved him. Breaking the man was not an option no matter how strong his urges were. 

Shisui’s eyes met his, red bleeding away. In the dark murkiness of Shisui’s pretty eyes was everything that existed between them: the power struggle, the fathomless love, and the trust. Shisui smirked, then, telling Itachi everything he needed to know. As if the barely perceptible nod was needed anymore. Shisui, despite being hogtied on his living room floor in the center of a disaster area, was still in control. He could simply tell Itachi not to do it, and they both knew that he’d listen, even if he didn’t want to. Shisui was his everything… if he denied him that, took this from him when he was asked not to, their relationship would suffer for it. But no, Shisui was rewarding him. For winning, for overpowering him. He could say no.

But he didn’t.

So Itachi took his place behind him, slathered the slippery ointment there with the tympanic pounding of his pulse in his ears. It was exciting and empowering to be in Shisui’s place for a change. He grazed reverent fingers over the smeared remains of his name on Shisui’s back, his arousal increasing just to look upon it. “Mine,” he whispered, more for himself than anything, brushing fingertips across the kanji. He leaned forward, his hair brushing over taut muscle. “Sing for me, Shisui,” he purred, stealing his name back for himself.

Shisui laughed nervously. “Say please.”

Itachi bit his lip to hold in his own laughter, positioned himself, and pushed. The only sound from Shisui was a low sound of discomfort. It seemed this would be another fight, but he wanted Shisui’s song, and he would have it, one way or another. He dug fingers into the muscle of Shisui’s buttocks, marveling at the new view. He inhaled sharply as he tried his first tentative strokes. It was impossibly tight, and he was so turned on already that this wasn’t going to last long. How was he supposed to coax a song out of stubborn Shisui if he couldn’t even last?

He didn’t have long to think about it. His body was already deciding for him. His mind was spiraling into the nothing, dragging him toward his orgasm whether he wanted to go or not. Surrendering to himself, he splayed one palm over those perfect indentations just over his tailbone, pressed the other down between his shoulder blades, and fucked. He pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back in, over and over, shutting his eyes and losing himself to it, objectifying the man beneath him as nothing more than a tool for his pleasure. A low growl grew in his chest, rumbling, cascading over raspy vocal chords, unable to be contained. There was a satisfying hiss from the floorboards and Shisui collapsed, going completely flat, grinding his hips upon the rug. Shisui’s mouth opened then, and the most beautiful, desperate noise birthed forth, careening up into the ceiling, music to Itachi’s ears.

He came then. He had no idea if Shisui had and he didn’t care. He finally understood the rest of the game. He’d dominated, he’d won, he’d fucked, and he’d stolen the sounds from Shisui’s lungs against his will. “Ah,” he gasped into his lover’s ear after he’d crumpled on top of him, panting. “There he is.”

“Fuck you,” Shisui told him affectionately, equally as out of breath. His forehead was resting against his forearm, a puddle of drool beneath that.

“Mm.”

Shisui laughed again. The living room suffered for their assault. Furniture broken, blood staining everything, walls cracked and peeling plaster. Beside them, the couch still smoldered. It was ruined, but the house was not in danger, so they watched it burn, two sets of eyes fixated on the same dancing flames. As time passed, their breathing calmed, their hearts settled. They’d expended all of their energy fighting each other and had none left for argument or discussion. They watched the flame burn upon the ruined couch. When the light went out, they merely closed their eyes and went to sleep. 

 


	19. Hold Tight

* * *

_“I may not be who I ought to be. I know I’m not all that I want to be. But I’ve come a long way from who I used to be. And I won’t give up on becoming what I know I can be.”_

* * *

 

 _Hokage_.

There was absolutely no reason that he should have been blindsided by that one, but he was.

_I want you to succeed me as Hokage._

Itachi still felt numb. There wasn’t a whole lot in the world that he wanted less than the title of Hokage. The reason that he loved being with Shisui was that his cousin made all of the difficult decisions for them both. Whether or not an enemy needed to die, what to do about the broken furniture, whose turn it was to do dishes… Itachi’s life was blissful mainly because he didn’t have to shoulder the burdens of the decisions that he made. Shisui had taken those responsibilities upon himself, and gladly, and Itachi had relinquished the need for those things just as happily.

There was no one less suited for Hokage than Uchiha Itachi. And yet, when he’d asked Sandaime _why_ , Sarutobi Hiruzen had a litany of reasons, starting with his perceptive mind, flowing through his role in stopping the coup d’etat, and finishing with his dedicated and exceptional service from within ANBU. Put that way, Itachi _did_ sound like a promising candidate, much to his dismay. He had tried to decline, but Sarutobi seemed distraught at the prospect, and Itachi hated to see the old man upset.

_Itachi, there is no one in this village I would rather see in my place than you._

Oh, he knew _why_. The rift between Uchiha and Senju was healing, true, but handing over the reins of Konoha to a member of the Uchiha would be a monumental symbol of the end of decades of infighting and mistrust. He had the skills. He had the temperament. But most importantly, as with anything, he had the _bloodline_. Time and time again, his worth was attributed to his genetics. Sarutobi trusted him; there were few others among the shinobi who could succeed Sarutobi as Hokage, and none of them had his _bloodline_.

More unsettling was the fact that becoming Hokage would solve one more increasingly inconvenient problem: his need to marry. If he accepted the mantle, he could use his office as an excuse to relinquish his place as Fugaku’s heir to his little brother, Sasuke. No one would find it strange, then, that he had no interest in a marriage. Likely, he’d still be pressured occasionally to pass on his bloodline, but it would be a simple enough matter to wave his hand and use occupation as an excuse.

He was keenly aware, however, that this was his one and only chance. By accepting or rejecting the offer, he would be making a permanent decision on the matter of Uchiha Shisui and their unorthodox relationship. If he rejected the seat of Hokage, he would eventually be forced into a marriage and leadership of the clan. It was inevitable. He couldn’t use Shisui’s method to discourage potential mates; it wasn't like him. Thus far, all he’d really done was give the lame excuse that he was busy, and his parents were beginning to grow impatient. However, _marriage_ meant _children_ , and Itachi had secretly relished the idea of someday being a father.

On the other hand, if he became Hokage, he could continue his dalliance with Shisui and shunt off the pressures of being Fugaku’s heir. If he ever changed his mind on the prospect of marriage and kids—unlikely, but not impossible—then he’d still have the option. But turning down the hat was definitely the death knell on their relationship unless they came up with something else equally as major.

Itachi hated it. But there it was.

He arrived home long before Shisui. The tussle that had destroyed their living room had finally convinced his lazy cousin to get a little practice in, and he spent his afternoons—never mornings—training. Sometimes Itachi joined him, sometimes not. It was because he had been summoned today that he had not gone with him. Itachi was grateful, however, that his lover was still out. He still had not had enough time to mull over the title of Hokage, but he didn’t want to be out. Not anywhere. He needed to be home, right here where he belonged, surrounded by his four walls of safety and reminded of the man that kept him grounded.

He needed Shisui. Dominant Shisui. There were times, like now, when he was tense all over with the need to submit, to surrender everything he was, body and soul, lose himself to the song that Shisui wrought out of him with the roughly spun materials of iron, leather, pain and pleasure. It cleared his mind in a way that nothing else could, resetting everything that was wrong with his world and returning him to his most basic state: that he was Itachi, that he belonged to Shisui, and that nothing else in the world mattered but that. Anything else beyond that point, they could figure out together.

He lifted his collar out of the drawer and pressed it to his nose, inhaling the sweet and fragrant scent of leather. And, too, there was the coppery smell of blood and the musky tone of sweat, the olfactory story of Shisui and Itachi, conveniently written upon the scrap in his palm. He buckled the black leather around his neck and sighed with relief. It was like wearing a hug, that thing, like Shisui was there with him even when he wasn’t.

Feeling better, he decided to do his best to make sure Shisui felt welcomed when he returned. He made a pot of coffee, even though it was already late afternoon. It was his hope that Shisui would want to stay up late tonight, for Itachi himself was unlikely to be able to sleep. He changed into more comfortable clothes, opting for a loose pair of black pants and a blue Uchiha t-shirt. Finally, he made a pot of rice. There were leftovers in the fridge that could be reheated when Shisui got back.

All that was left to do was wait. Feeling subdued and pathetic, he opted for sitting cross-legged before the front door. He meditated, considering life before and after donning the Hokage hat; how his family would react, how Sasuke would handle being the head of the Clan, how he and Shisui would find the time to be together, how stressful leading Konoha would be, the tedium of paperwork.

It was somewhere between planning chuunin exams and fending off the endless march of marriage prospects that the door opened and Shisui stepped inside. Itachi was so glad to see him that he almost wept with relief. He stood and threw his arms around his master. “Welcome home, Sir,” he whispered into his ear.

He felt Shisui smile against his face. Felt his fingers graze the collar. Felt him still, gentle breaths upon his skin. Shisui was smart. He was putting pieces together, tasting the air, gauging the situation. Itachi rarely needed this as badly as he did right now, and he was a varying degree of obviousness when it was needful. The vibes he was giving off screamed for a strong hand. “Pour me that coffee,” he commanded softly with a short nod in the direction of the coffee machine, authority not suffering for lack of volume.

“Yes, Sir,” Itachi replied meekly, fetching the coffee at once. “Would you like your dinner now, Sir?” he asked, setting the mug before Shisui with a brief kiss upon his temple.

“Yes. You will eat, too. Sit there,” he ordered, gesturing to the seat directly across from him.

Itachi did as he was told, fixing each of them a plate and taking his place across the table. He kept his eyes down upon the food, but he felt Shisui’s eyes upon him, felt his hunger for things that weren’t food. His pulse was already racing, for he knew full well what the force of such ravenousness meant for him later. Even imagining the wicked things Shisui would do was not enough to quiet his mind, though. He longed for the lash. His stomach was sick for it, so much so that he actually pushed his plate away, staring at his hands upon his lap, feeling miserable. “Itachi, you must eat,” Shisui told him with concern.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

Shisui was silent for a moment. This was why Itachi appreciated him so greatly. Shisui read the currents of the air, surmised Itachi’s moods without needing to ask, and knew exactly what to do about it. First they would play this out, then Shisui would purify him with pain, and then they would talk, in that order. “Take care of the dishes. And get me another cup of coffee.”

Itachi breathed a sigh of relief, happy for a task to complete. He cleared his plate, replaced Shisui’s cup, and reached for his empty plate. Shisui snatched his hand mid reach. Their eyes met. Shisui rubbed the pad of one thumb over the inside of his wrist, trying to read exactly what was going on inside Itachi’s mind. Itachi recognized the look; he was trying to determine if Itachi was hurting or merely conflicted. What he saw there was what he would use to set the tone for the evening, so Itachi met his stare and lowered his defenses, losing himself in his dark, depthless eyes. Times like this, Shisui seemed almost ancient; he was always somehow able to see through Itachi, knew precisely how to handle him, and exactly what to say, if anything needed to be said. This time, all he did was raise Itachi’s hand to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his palm, held it to his face, and smiled up at Itachi. Love and understanding. _I’ll take care of everything._

Itachi smiled briefly, made a grab for the plate with his other hand. They slid apart. Itachi returned to his chores. “Sing for me,” Shisui bade him.

Itachi paused in his scrubbing. That was a rather unusual request. He turned his head slightly. “An actual song?”

“Yes,” Shisui confirmed, his voice rich with humor. “An actual song. Not that your usual song doesn’t please me greatly.”

Itachi’s heart lifted to hear that. He took a deep breath, wondering which song would suit Shisui best. In the end, he went with a song of night time, of stars and solitude and silence, and all of the things that reminded him of Shisui when they were apart. He was unused to singing for an audience, but Shisui had asked it of him, and he had never been able to deny him anything. He could still feel his cousin’s eyes upon him, his nostrils filled with the scent of coffee, ears relaxed by the sound of gentle sighing.

He was on the last refrain of the song when he felt Shisui approach him from behind. Hands encircled his waist but didn’t touch. Itachi’s song died, and Shisui tsked. “I didn’t say to stop singing.” With a sudden quickening of his heartbeat, Itachi took up the song from where he’d left off. There was merely the ghost of heat as he raised Itachi’s shirt over his head, slowly, dragging fabric against sensitive, pleading skin. Itachi shivered, impatient, rushed through the last phrase and went silent. He took a deep breath as the shirt peeled over his head, and when it was gone, he turned to face his master. Shisui’s eyes were night-dark and intense, but they narrowed in the slightest, focusing on his own. Itachi felt captured, cradled, completely at his mercy. There was comfort in that.

Without a word, Shisui grasped his hand and led him to the living room. “Sit,” he commanded, gently pushing him toward the couch. Itachi sat. Shisui retrieved the rough spun rope, mostly because he knew Itachi hated it. Usually, they used the silk rope; it didn’t chafe his hands and held fast. Occasionally, though, when Shisui was feeling especially impish, he used a scratchy sailor’s kind of rope that left Itachi’s wrists raw and angry.

It was perfect for today.

Shisui sent the rope sailing through a ring in the ceiling. They’d used it before to stretch his arms up above his head, but to Itachi’s surprise, Shisui knelt before him, his expression somber. He dragged off Itachi’s pants, not making eye contact, then kissed the inside of both thighs. Then, he wove the rope in between and around Itachi’s ankles and began tying a knot. As he did that, Itachi’s eyes traveled from the rope in his fingers to the ring in the ceiling, realization dawning. He exhaled shakily, grateful that Shisui was not about to let him down. “I’ve not done this before,” Shisui told him in a low voice. “The blood rushes to your head and can be unpleasant.” He finished the knot, tightening it mercilessly. Itachi suppressed a wince. Shisui leaned forward, grasped Itachi’s face in both hands, and stared into his eyes. “Look into my eyes,” he commanded, locking their souls together at the windows. “You’re _strong_.”

Itachi heard him, internalized his words, feeling strengthened. It was a challenge. Shisui was tightening Itachi’s control on the safeword _. Don’t give it unless you’re dying._

Pressure built up in his brain as he was turned upside down, dragged up by the ankles. He dangled, swaying, but Shisui added another lash between the rings of his collar and the ring hiding beneath the rug. Finally, he tied Itachi’s wrists to the same ring of the floor. Solid. Secure. He took a deep breath, embracing the painful rush of blood to his head. Shisui walked around him in a circle, tapping him with his hands, wakening nerve endings all around his body. Itachi had been upside down for training exercises before, but he was keenly aware of how dangerous this was. He could pass out. He could fall. All of this depended on Shisui and his attention.

And he trusted Shisui with his life.

He started in with the flogger, gentle threads of leather barely registering above feather touch. They’d been at this for years; the flogger was more for decoration now than anything. Itachi closed his eyes and endured without even flinching, his thoughts packeting, organizing. They both understood that it was only a warm up, and Itachi used it to mentally prepare. The zapping electric technique that Shisui had unveiled during the living room breaking incident came next. Itachi’s muscles seized and tightened, and his jaw clenched, but he managed to maintain control. His face tensed with concentration, focusing in on the intriguing sound of electricity, little more than an invigorating tickle.

“Strong,” Shisui mused, impressed. “You amaze me, Itachi.” Behind him, Itachi could not see what he was up to, but when the hard tip of the dreaded cane started drawing lines across Itachi’s body, he shut his eyes and stilled. The instrument in Shisui’s hand was Itachi’s salvation and his bane; it was all too easy to send Itachi sailing into dreamland and crowing safewords. “Strong,” Shisui repeated, tapping thighs, shoulder, buttocks with light snaps.

His heart raced, the day’s trials and tribulations forgotten. This is what he had wanted, for Shisui to help him remember who he was and forget who he wasn’t. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, gaining control over his center, preparing. When the light snaps became moderately harder smacks, lingering upon skin, stinging and then aching, blossoms of heat and oversensitization, Itachi bit his lip and focused, tuning into the slap of the cane, the sound of his breathing and the pulse in his temples, willing himself to endure the pressure in his head and the superficial sting that spread across his skin like a lacquer of torment.

After a time, Shisui paused, running admiring fingers over his handiwork, commenting on the warmth of the angry welts, reminding Itachi that he was stronger than this, praising him for his performance. He had taken Itachi near his previous limits, and yet Itachi was still unbroken. Truth be told, he was proud of himself, too. His heart raced, his head was agony, and his skin was on fire, but he was still alive and still capable of enduring more.

And then, Shisui sought to establish the new limit. The strokes of the cane came faster, struck harder. Itachi devolved, his careful control dissolving into winces and hisses, his body writhing away from where he knew the next blow would come from, panic fluttering to life. He whimpered, cried out, and began shouting, wild frantic flight instincts seizing his brain. _You’re strong,_ Shisui’s phantom reminded him as he squeezed his eyes free of tears and steeled his will from within his mind. He howled a wordless cry, over and over again until his throat was raw, but he swallowed the safeword and kept it down.

He was a blind flash of agony before it was through, and it wasn’t until Shisui’s soft voice in his ear broke through the haze that he realized that the strokes had stopped. “Come back to me,” he cooed, caressing his face. “Come on back, Itachi.”

When he blinked his eyes open and saw the upside down face of Shisui— _No, it is I that is upside down,_ he remembered—he exhaled long and deep.

“Ah,” Shisui said with a tired smile. “There he is.”


	20. Belong

* * *

_“You want to be free. You also want to be mine. You can’t be both” –Nenia Campbell_

* * *

 

Itachi felt physically and emotionally drained, so tired that he considered just tipping into Shisui and falling asleep. Even with his eyes closed he could feel Shisui’s attentive fingers rubbing healing salve into the angry wounds upon his back. It was top quality stuff, numbing as soon as it came into contact with any kind of injury, which is why Shisui spent such a significant portion of his mission income on it. It healed quickly, comfortably, and left no scars behind. Each of Itachi’s fresh welts received the gentlest of kisses, healing attention, and a breeze of breath to activate the menthol like a kiss of winter. Itachi breathed slowly, coming down from the evening, exhaustion and contentment replacing stress and aggravation.

“I knew you could do it,” Shisui said after a time. “You’re magnificent, just as I always knew you would be.” He paused, sighed, sounded of smiles. “Gods, Itachi… you’re so beautiful to me.”

Itachi smiled tiredly, mind fuzzy and growing dimmer. “Did I really do it? I kind of got lost at the end there.”

Shisui chuckled softly, rubbing gentle circles into the small of his back. “Yeah. I gave you everything I had.”

Itachi was silent a moment, processing. Was that even possible? “You’re just saying that,” he accused, disbelieving.

“I am many dreadful things, Uchiha Itachi, and liar is one. I will not, however, ever lie to you for any reason.”

“I know.”

“So yes. You are even stronger than the cane. I have nothing further to teach you.”

Itachi’s heart tore a little to hear it. Surely he didn’t mean…? “You won’t leave me, will you?” he whispered fearfully.

“Not even if you asked me to,” he answered readily. He stopped his work on Itachi’s back, made contact with his shoulders, tactile presence. _I’m not going anywhere_. “You want to tell me what this is about now? I think I’ve earned it. Even I’m going to feel that beating tomorrow.” He huffed a short laugh, replacing the lid on his ointment.

“You did earn it,” he agreed. “Thank you, Sir.”

“My pleasure. Before you tell me, though, it’s bed time. Sleep on your stomach tonight, mkay? You should be right as rain come morning, but for tonight you want to let them breathe.” He stood and helped Itachi to his feet.

Itachi moved stiffly, grimacing from the myriad aches and pains that he’d sought. He made his way to the bedroom and faceplanted on the mattress. He took a deep breath and moaned with pleasure. Bed never felt so well earned. Shisui settled in next to him, propped on one elbow. Itachi crawled closer, settling his face against one arm, careful to leave his back exposed to air and not smashed against the sheets. Shisui’s face tipped down closer, toying with Itachi’s hair with his other hand. “Alright. What’s bothering you?”

Dread pooled in his stomach, poisoning his body. “Hokage,” he breathed.

Shisui frowned, hugged his face and kissed his brow. Nothing more needed to be said. He understood.

* * *

 

His mother hugged him tightly, crying. Itachi couldn’t remember a time when she had ever cried. Dimly he wondered why she did so now; was it because of the plight of her younger son? Or did she understand just how heavily the burden of the Hokage mantle lay upon his shoulders? Perhaps she was only overemotional because of her pride? Whatever it was, he found himself apologizing. To all of them.

Especially his younger brother. He apologized a number of times to him, for to Itachi it felt as if he was running away from that particular problem and dumping it off on Sasuke. His brother was tired of the apology, though, even after one. “Quit apologizing,” he said uncomfortably, hitching his shoulder in a shrug. Itachi knew better; Sasuke had always sought their father’s approval. Itachi’s defection from the Clan had delivered the Uchiha straight into Sasuke’s hands. Fugaku would necessarily have to spend a lot of one-on-one time with his youngest son to prepare him for what was to come. Though he hid it well, Sasuke would be thrilled.

“I’m so proud of you, Sasuke,” he told his brother. At thirteen, Sasuke was too cool for hugs. He endured it gracelessly, scowling. “You’ll be better than me in my place.” It was true; Sasuke was much better suited for leading the Uchiha. If they had had to trade places—Sasuke as Hokage, Itachi as Clan Leader—things would go much more poorly. Sasuke had the overbearing personality needed to keep his elders in check, but he lacked the compassion for the weak that any Hokage needed. Conversely, Itachi tended to focus more on the defenseless and found the pride and forcefulness of his clan to be hard to stomach.

After he’d accepted his fate, Itachi was rather glad to be leaving it all behind, actually.

“And you’re always a step ahead of me,” Sasuke grumbled. _“Hokage._ Glory hog. Tch.”

The ceremony was over a week behind them, but Itachi had been so busy with paperwork and meetings and apprenticeship with the Third that he hadn’t even had time to stop by and say goodbye to his family. He’d had several thorough and meaningful discussions with Sarutobi since his instatement, though, and grudgingly he had to admit that he enjoyed the work. He seemed to have a knack for the bigger picture. Sarutobi was quite pleased. The Uchiha were a seamless part of Konoha now, and the wall around the compound was slated to come down soon. Camaraderie among villagers was at an all time high and predicted to improve even further once Sarutobi formally stepped down and placed Itachi in charge. There was only one problem with being Hokage.

Shisui had disappeared.

During one of their conversations, Sarutobi had reminded him that he was granted the privilege of bringing in persons that he thought were suitable for positions of importance. For the most part, Itachi thought that the personnel in place were doing a fine job, but he did request a new position for his cousin as the Head of ANBU, a decision that Sarutobi fully supported. Shisui’s youthful bloodlust had calmed—a fact that Itachi took great pride in, though he could never voice credit for it—and yet his success rate was still the highest that village had ever seen. Ever since the order was handed down, though, Shisui had mysteriously disappeared. There was no sign that he had been home. He made inquiries, but no one had any information for him, and if he expressed an inappropriate amount of interest during such a time when every eye in the village was upon him, the truth about their companionship might start to unravel.

Itachi’s heart was breaking. Every day was a struggle not to crumble. Ever since he had affixed himself to Shisui’s side, they’d been an inseparable team, the light and dark, two halves of the same coin, yin and yang, master and disciple. He had thought that Shisui needed him as much as he needed Shisui. He simply could not accept that he’d been wrong about his dark, dangerous cousin all along. A life without Shisui was not one he could accept.

“Has anyone seen Shisui?” he asked mildly.

His family members shook their heads. “You live with him, Itachi,” Fugaku reminded him. “If anyone is going to know where he is, it would be you, not us.”

“Right,” he confirmed, dropping the subject.

“Has something happened?” his mother asked.

“No. He probably just got called off on an emergency mission,” Itachi explained with a falsely unconcerned shrug. Truth be told, he was terrified. Shisui wouldn’t leave on such a mission without him, for one thing. For another, as Hokage, he had access to _every_ record of _every_ mission, and Shisui did not have clearance to leave Konoha. He’d simply vanished. All he could think of was that, for whatever reason, Shisui had abandoned him. Or that he was somehow dead. It had been more than a week without a word, and his heart was tearing itself apart in anguish.

 _Have faith,_ he told himself. _Trust._ But with each passing day, he felt his hope wilting, worry gnawing at his insides. Worse yet, he had to keep hiding it. Sarutobi and the elders were putting him through the gauntlet, throwing him into every task with impunity. He hardly had a chance to rest, let alone think of his absent cousin. Every day was its own kind of hell, trying to adopt an air of confidence and capability as he learned his new role, smiling at people in the street all while his soul tore itself apart. It wasn’t long before he found himself sleeping at his desk in utter exhaustion, though it was still better than going home. His bed still smelled of Shisui and Shisui was still gone. Every step toward home was a senbon to the heart, and sleeping alone was a greater agony than anything his master had ever done to his body. Was this some kind of cruel punishment for his decision to become Hokage?

He ended up dozing off while designing the written exam for genin placement seventeen days after being declared the Fifth Hokage. He didn’t dream. He awoke in the darkness with the sense that something was wrong, but that was not so unusual. _Every day_ without Shisui was wrong, after all.

The office was dark. Beyond the window, the moon waned, nearly new, and the Village was a quiet, serene backdrop. Most would be sleeping, certainly the children, including the young genin that would be set to take their exams early next week. Sasuke was probably sprawled out, dreaming of the day when their father was old and proud and he was the pride of the Clan. All of them were Itachi’s personal, silent responsibilities. In this way, he really could watch over everyone. For a moment, he was almost happy, even alone.

But _his_ absence was more than just an absence. To lose Shisui was to lose himself. Not just half of himself, but the whole self; Itachi was merely shapeless ether with no vessel, blowing away on the wind. His heart constricted. He _liked_ being Hokage, he was ashamed to admit, but without Shisui it still tasted of ashes.

The feeling of wrongness evolved into a stab of alarm, and a shape materialized from the shadows. The outline was dark, for the moon was too weak to cast any light upon him at all. The Hokage had ANBU guards, not that he needed them, but Sarutobi had insisted that the Hokage was to let his guards handle a battle in his place whenever possible. “Intruder,” he hissed, preparing for a fight anyway.

“Who, me or you?” came the amused reply.

Itachi choked on a sob of relief at the sound of _that_ familiar voice. “Sir!” he cried out, unable to help himself.

“Well, yeah,” he returned, sounding confused. “Who else would I be?”

“Where have you been?” Itachi demanded, crossing the space between them.

“Ah ah ah,” Shisui warned, lifting his sword. “I leave you alone for two minutes and already you forget your place.” Itachi stopped as Shisui tsked. “I know I trained you better than that, Hokage or no.”

Relaxation seeped into muscles fraught with stress and depression. “I am sorry, Sir. I was worried, is all.”

“About me? Gods, have your wits completely abandoned you or what? It was _you_ who ordered me into a position I didn’t even want. Head of the ANBU indeed,” he scoffed mockingly. “Do you have any idea what I have to put up with now? Cocky jounin with deluded visions of grandeur thinking they can hack it with the real ninjas. _Paperwork_. You _know_ how much I hate paperwork.”

“But…” he searched his thoughts helplessly. What had he missed? No one had been able to find Shisui, and… “You haven’t been home,” he accused.

“Well, no. You’ve been training with your predecessor. I merely had to go train with mine. ANBU captains are a little crazy, so his version of training was kind of nuts. He told me not to tell anyone and then he whisked me away. I didn’t want to let you down, so I did what I was told for once. I just got back. I came straight here.”

 _I just got back. I came straight here._ “Thank the gods,” Itachi breathed.

“Itachi… what’s wrong?” Shisui asked, genuinely confused. “You didn’t really think I’d left, did you?” There was a pause as Itachi fought hard not to cry. _Actually_ cry. Uchiha Itachi _did not_ cry. “Oh gods,” Shisui whispered. “You did, didn’t you? You thought I’d left you?” He dropped his sword and finished closing the distance between them, wrapped arms around him and held him tightly. “If I’d had any idea, Itachi, I’d have told you no matter what the previous Head of ANBU demanded. I’m sorry.”

“It is I that am sorry,” Itachi told him, trying to calm his treacherous heart. “I should have known better. It’s this stupid hat,” he grumbled, though he wasn’t wearing one. They both knew what he meant. “What I do now isn’t half as difficult as missions for ANBU but… my brain is tired. I can’t seem to think straight.”

“Well as to that,” Shisui purred, “I’ve always got your cure.”

“Uchiha Shisui, I expressly forbid you from ever leaving me like that again,” Itachi said in the most severe tone he could manage.

Shisui tsked. “I don’t take orders from you, hat or no hat. That hat has clearly scrambled your brains. You know very well that there are rules, and the rules are in place for a reason.”

“You dare?” Itachi teased, feeling bratty and challenging.

“Oh,” Shisui said, his voice dangerously quiet, “I _dare_. You know better than to say my name without permission. I do remember telling you that I would punish you severely for that.”

Itachi grinned. _So be it, then._ “Shisui.”

The challenge was met as he hoped. Shisui’s hands grasped his shoulders roughly, forcing him down. “On your knees… Hokage-sama.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. :)


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